distance is sometimes a meditation on kindness.

entering a supermarket is potentially lethal.

packages are possible contaminants

requiring sanitising, before opening.

humans shelter behind closed doors,

yet find renewed solidarity

and connection,

smile at strangers,

and greet neighbours

we’ve never noticed

before.

cars sit idly.

people don’t earn but

petrol bills do not accrue.

spending on fast-food,

beauty treatments

and coffee in disposable cups

shrinks.

enthusiasm for edible gardens and

home-grown vegetables

expands,

fertile with sustainable potential.

the populace embraces a wider view of education.

obsessive compulsive hand washing

is possibly a new normal.

my husband moves into a caravan

(for who knows how long),

ventures out each dawn to tend the sick;

there are endless unhappy possibilities

and endless possibilities

of transformation and renewal.

a ninety-nine year old war veteran raises

tens of millions for the wellbeing of others.

an ‘otherwise well’ teenager drowns

in his own pulmonary secretions.

in the wintry, wind-swept night, a

myriad stars prevail,

a lamp glows in a small caravan window, and

love waves across the gap.