Don’t we all have places to go like these? Wet
and stuffed with life, warm, not yet growing spots,

these great and hollowed grenades. I let myself coil in.
Like any good blanket that’s ever swaddled me safe,

We say, ”I will light a candle,”
as if the light will dissipate
the virus. We wear masks
to hike by
our beloved river.

I will speak the anguish of my spirit; I will complain
in the bitterness of my soul. —Job 7:11, NRSV


Even the lamentations are different now
multiplied
polyphonic