While people all over the world
chanted and prayed for a miracle,
we stood in the woods with binoculars
trained on a pair of bluebirds
flitting from branch to branch,
tiny chests puffed out
in the chill morning air. And for those
few moments, mud frozen
beneath our feet and not a single
golden leaf stirring on the beech tree,
I did not think about a virus entering
my body after turning a doorknob
or shaking someone’s hand or touching
my own face. It was as if those two
bluebirds became parts of us freed
at last from worry — our tufted, lighter
bodies now lifting higher and higher,
like words meant for whatever god
might still be listening.