Thursday Poem

At the Beginning of Covid-19

Night, night, night. And the shadows
That wane talk to us. The music rounds
Up, exempt from history. It’s an endless
Canceling out of divinity, ready to speak

Again, saying, I am here. I’d call it endless,
Endless. What is stripped of its mortality
Goes on like a soldier to war. But we can’t
Do that, not really. Instead, we balance

On the head of a pin with the angels. I’ve
Spent hours lettering the borders of this
World. My cohorts, I don’t believe the laments
About leaving our lives, but I do believe it

That there is elegy, as green as grass. Nothing’s
Touching me anymore, and the spring rain Is peace.

by Noelle Kocott
from The National Poetry Library