Leaf shadows thrown by the morning sun against a creamy wall.
Soft, sensuous folds of a warm blanket tossed across my knees.
My grandmother’s hands wrapped around a mug as I sip sweet coffee.
So much I fail to see in the time of corona.
Or seeing, fail to note,
Or noting, fail to feel
What once I felt.
Poetry all around me.
— April 30, 2020