Pandemic Pantoum

Hello? Hello? Turn on your microphone,
I see your mouth move. I don’t hear your voice.
You sit, untouchable, I sit alone,
in this contagion there’s no other choice.

I see your mouth move; I don’t hear your voice
caught in the tangled internet, somewhere
in this contagion, there’s no other choice,
it travels through the not quite empty air

caught in the tangled internet somewhere,
the gesture separated from the word.
It travels through the not quite empty air
hoping to reassemble and be heard,

the gesture, separated from the word,
struggling to tell me what you really mean,
hoping to reassemble and be heard.
I do not understand what I have seen.

Struggling to tell me what you really mean,
you sit untouchable. I sit alone.
I do not understand what I have seen.
Hello? Hello? Turn on your microphone.

winter chairs

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