Across the atlantic

she’s seeking time

between hauling mattress,

bedstand, and home

streets over

down a block or two

I’m writing to deadline,

hubby’s doing computer work,

the cats are napping,

we’re all of us taking time.

But she needs our’s

So I’ll crank until she

can touch base,

re-root herself

while I untangle

self, and muse, and verse,

to create a semblance

of what’s within murky Covid

thoughts.

And I know, feel sure,

all will be ok.

For her.

For me.

For him.

Families across the world

trying to connect and take space.