plagued

We are feeble,
dust and droplets and germs
with face masks on guard against
all the fears populating our world.
We lash out and reach out
and sometimes both at once,
not really knowing
what we do or don’t do,
not really seeing what we need
or what harms us –
children all,
sequestered in a global sickroom
with an IV drip of articles
and campaigns and quests
to keep us well.

And I am sitting in my home,
looking out
at a world returning to the wild within,
tied to filtering screens,
and suddenly so weary –
stretched thin by all the things I must do
the responsibilities I hold heavy
as a follower, a lover,
a human.

But on sunny days,
(and more of these are dawning)
the window is open,
and the air coming in is cold and fresh,
carrying bird song on its back
and wildflowers in its wake.
And I feel then
as though the world
is a winsome place,
infected, yes, utterly plagued
by songbirds,

and though beauty may exhaust me
(as it should)
I will not stop breathing it in.