It’s not over, she says.
You thought
you’d had enough,
that you’d learned to listen.
You held fast
and now it should be over.
You can do more, she whispers.
Thank you for listening
to my beautiful birds
to the beating of your own heart.
Now what?
The borders are closed.
The sickness is rising.
The cabin fever.
The incessant fever.
The pent up emotion, frustration, dismay.
What will you use the immensity of it for?
You are alive.
How will you serve?
What is your creative contribution?
How will you release yourself?