Chosen

The new reality has put each of us into a bubble.  Some are obvious or essential members of the exclusive container.  Judgment is required.  Judgement of risk, and of trust.  I'm old, and it seems to me to be a more familiar decision than one would expect.  I've had my bubble for some time, and I admit new members with care.

Chosen

 

In our bubble, overlooking another man’s mown grass,

              (Still bright wet from morning sprinklers)

              The stark dagger of a fir shadow threatens from the south.

I see it all through the iridescent film of our isolation.

The sunlight plays on the lawn at the speed of the light breeze,

              Highlighting the subtle shades of your eyebrows.

We breathe easily—no one is upwind or down. We are chosen

              And we choose with care with whom to share

              The warm and lambent light that makes it through.