There will be rooms of people
You’ve never seen before.
And won’t again, strangers,
Brazenly loving music,
Eating dumplings, browsing scarves.
There will be breaths let out,
Unchecked; there will be strange air,
Strange beds, cafe tables
That wobble as you write.
There will be spontaneous outings.
You will linger in the ice cream shop,
Not hurry out to lick your cone
In the street; you will rush
Between drinks and a show,
Take a cab, hug a friend. Now
There are calculations, comparisons,
Care. Familiar walls and making do,
And it does. But only for now.
—July 31, 2020
