Social Distancing

She
dedicates her hands to a strand of fig leaves
coiling them about her waist until isolated
from nakedness.

He
stands apart, declines his eyes
so as not to witness
the disappearance. Now,

they
hide in themselves
an expanse of strides (six or more)
which can’t be crossed by

some
bridge of flesh as if happiness lay
just one rise away. The homeless
can’t stay at home, and

those
cast out can’t help casting shadows—
stretching to snag someone else’s skin.
Though never fully spanning

that
interval between, the brief leaning
forms a new life beyond
the fruitless wound—one not grasped

but in the present beholding.

Published by asaur