Quarantine Dreaming

I wake in first light of morning.

The cool air drifts into my open window.
I hear a single crow call in the distance.
Far away, a dog barks twice.

The birds begin to sing their sunrise song.
At first just one or two —
then three.

I think about how peacefully the human world is sleeping,
while sap runs through the wakened trunks and branches
and dark soil murmurs messages of spring.

I wonder what my neighbours might be dreaming.
Or are there some
like me,
awake and listening?

And just for a moment
I tentatively reach out
into the web of energetic filament
that connects us all.

Especially now.

I feel some hearts touch mine,
just briefly;
respectfully;
thoughtfully.

We are pleasantly surprised
to see each other in that moment.

And then we move on.

©Diane Finkle Perazzo

This poem appears in Could This Be the Last Time: A collection of poems on pandemics, places, and everything. Compiled by Apt613 National Poetry Month April 2020

Image: Ode to Blues of Winter by Deborah DeWit