fever

the song. my cue.

everyone’s off. streaming sunlight through glass walls mention cathedral. people smile as they move from side to side.

there are no deadlines that need attending. there are no phone calls on hold.

after loses meaning. before hums along with the song. the tide is past. my palm rests placid on the sheet of the sea.

the virus is done. i wipe my nose. i sit and stare at the monitor.

so long, i write, and thanks for all the fish.