Confined with COVID to a single room for days on end,
I join the ranks of those who can only
look out a window, if they have one:
cloistered nuns, hospital patients,
nursing home residents, prisoners.
We gaze, we yearn, we befriend ourselves
in this small universe, this tomb, this womb.
A little thread stretches
out from deep inside to open air
and all its roots and alleys,
to those we miss, to all the others,
a thread only discernible
in the vast nugget of this desert solitude.
Go into the crowd and listen to the hunger
for the peace of living with oneself,
how foreign, cherished, doubted, forgotten.
Go into your own little cell and find there
the wire throbbing.
Follow the thin song,
and touch the miracle that we all
all are lonelier than we think,
all more deeply connected than we know.