• Vol. 07
  • Chapter 10

COVID CHOREOGRAPHY

The earth
can no longer hold them.
They dance
where and while they can,
swoop and hover
like damsel flies in summer.
She is pliant, elastic,
all rounded curves,
enchanted,
floating above water,
lost in her reflection.
The male,
larger and more dazzling,
skips and soars high over land,
exultant, alive.

He is as spiky as the virus they flee.
To meet is to die.

Seconds
trickle through grass,
minutes
are whisked away by wind.
The dancers
float upon dreams,
count down the hours.
The music plays on.
They have no choice.
They dance.

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