In these COVID days
They call it breakthrough infection.
Ah, a dark way to open a poem.
But wait. As if emerging,
Emerging from a deep retreat,
I find a better breakthrough
The color of air, and no mirage.
I praise science.
Like manna and desert water
I fall into yearned-for sunshine hugs
That banish viral rumors and anxieties
And slake the thirst of bodies protected
But parched from lack of touch.
In the (hoped for) post-COVID days
I call it Breakthrough Affection
Ah, the poem brightens.
O the dared sensual fireworks: the songs of choristers,
The newly visited café aroma that defies facemasks.
The sparkle in a friend’s blue eyes,
The agapē agave tang of shared tequila
That wants the best for the beloved,
A handshake that at once dilates all chakras
(An inner breakthrough too long awaited.)
A pandemic virtue is patience.
From the lonely gestational cocoon, festivity at last.
My soul takes a fresh first breath
And risks belief anew in jollity.
Let the restoration season begin.