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Covid anxiety

Falling into that pleated dark,

I count my breaths.

Blood sings in my ears.

My pulse threads a jittered beat.

I harvest my fears –

Blood skeins tangle into clots,

rampaging towards my heart.

                        Panic

That god-goat scrabbles against

the soft stew of my brains.

                        Panic.


The dying hour before the dawn,

when our fingers lose their grip

and we tumble down, down,

into the waiting dark.

                                   

Between sleep and wake.

I lie, gripped by fear,

until I see a pale shine

beyond the curtains.

Images dissolving,

                        Reforming                  

                                                      then

My cat scratches at the door,

scenting small things.

I stretch out, moving

the nuts and bolts of my limbs.

I feel the tug of life.

Covid Anxiety: Text
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