Writing

Lockdown

I try to stitch the pieces.
Fuse the fibres back together,
Of heartstrings that have been stretched,
All elasticity loosened.

And so it becomes the smallest of things,
The everyday,
Droplets of joy,
Squeezed out of the most mundane.

The space between,
Anticipation,
Expectation.

I watch you grow.
A slow, certain rise,
Saluting the sun.

The modest calm in the morning,
Light slowly, quietly dawning.