Uncertainties in a Pandemic

 5/4/20

I don’t know which bird will sing first tomorrow morning from the pear tree
but I know the open-throated song of tiny Wren and Robin’s trill

I don’t know how many clouds it takes to raise a storm,
but I can smell the soft animal of rain before the drops fall

I don’t know the weight of salt in the sea,
but I know the sticky feel of salty skin after my morning swim

I don’t know where the gritty, grinding thoughts go,
but I know the sound of my morning sit

I don’t know the date of my own death,
but I know the humble rise and fall of each tumbling breath