A quick visit from the Muse yesterday morning and here's a lockdown poem.
Dawn on Day 61
Half-awake in half-light
To listen for the half-heard cry
That could be real until
The portcullis drops again.
Rigid, sharp, and full of holes.
No child is sleeping here.
And so the latest day’s
Unanalysed unease resolves
Into the dull, familiar ache of
Our phantom limbs.