pandemic: even the nice days, we’re inside

    The forest drifts in through the window, rising up the slope
        from narrow water carving low points lower.
Once with you, a wading bird we watched,
      waiting to see how close it would
come. Now that trail is gated by the threat of breath, too many
        people too close, path sated and spilling over.
         I am hungry for the touch of ferns,
for happenstance and a lost world of
coincidence I once felt standing all around me,
like a stand of trees in the city