December 7

More doors are closed now
in the hospital

patients sequestered behind glass
scrawled on with O2 sats

a menagerie of respiratory failure
such an artificial habitat-

beyond the windows
the mountain is out

austere white margins
suspended above the horizon

by unlit foothills
what a sunrise today–

everyone was talking about it
neon pink as the surgical masks

our buyer found somewhere
although with each minute

the blockprint fades
into just a day

like any other–
banal elevator banter

and the growing hush of the unit
floating between two worlds

with an illusion of levity
like a cloud, or an iceburg