after folding our muscles the shape lockdown

the breeze       coiling   around   my neck
                 gliding  between    the buttons of my shirt
   stretching our legs     blue grey clouds a backdrop

for the year of longing for familiar anythings

we chose
instead of crowding shores, to hike
walking the family dog up isle hills
visiting abbeys and castles, dancing over decades
of breadcrumbs you left behind, like a map

drawn for the memories alone.

making trees  paths   and ruins
little landmarks to go find, unraveling the knots made
folding our muscles the shape of quarantine.

taking turns jumping off the ground
raising our heartbeats in cages of caution and newsreels,
posing for all the things we could & couldn't do this year:

a star shape for getting married weeks shy of lockdown
a tree pose for keeping the peace
in an oxfordshire stone home         sized matchbox    
                                                       priced constellations
a boat pose for the stress eating and spontaneous drag race
                                        saturday morning
                                   (afternoon and evening) prosecco

after folding our muscles the shape lockdown

a cobra pose for my atrophied back muscles begging for excursions and exercise
                   a vacation from the vacation
and an easy cross-legged pose to contemplate the months spent
praying for our mothers, my father and sister, sending
   visa applications and cv's, lighting candles   tearing up
over remembered trauma birthed from teachers, society and expectation.

we hike the cotswold searching for the past months
their meaning and cost, making sense of this strange glitch
in our queer matrix, singing nothing, just
walking.