Author: Joshua Keiter

Children at the festival 
front row of the stage 
follow the motions 
of the performers 

effortlessly as if 
the combination of 
music and movement  
were inscribed in 

our being at the start 
mirror neurons develop 
as a song to sing and 
dance along with

Cleaning house
the cats do not 
know where 
their hair went 

forlorn for all 
the parts of themselves 
they thought
we were keeping 

they retrace 
their steps and shed 
an equivalent to make 
up the difference

Solitary figures 
running in place 
in an empty stadium 
makes me cry

The fourth wave
sounds incongruous 
to flattening the curve 

which never really 
worked out when 
you think about it 

just a long roller coaster 
of denial that the next 
crest will be any smoother 

than the last 
we’re all in this together 
which is why some of us 

keep putting masks on 
while others wait and see 
when it will be their turn 

to face facts infection 
is inevitable for those 
who don’t believe in science 

or anything really why else 
insist on dying so rapidly 
inherently unnecessarily 

a miracle those who are 
holding it together keep 
holding us together

Thinking of the story 
I heard on the radio 
about the family 
who found the only

image of their relation 
in footage disregarded 
for fifty years or more
now memories reclaimed 

by so many others 
pictures and sound 
filling in the blanks 
that otherwise are lost 

nothing is ever forgotten 
just caught between frames 
the projector spinning 
at the end of its cycle 

waiting for the light 
to come through

Remember when 
a billionaire exploiting 
the labor of millions 
landed on the moon 

making one giant leap 
for all humankind 
instead of inflating 
an already outsized ego 

me neither

Anxiety on 
the rise again 
based on imaginary 
shared numbers falling 

what if we have to 
shut down after 
this brief opening 
no one had adjusted to yet 

Brigadoon cities shaped like 
computer chips 
dotting the landscape 
growing in number 

before slipping behind 
a black cloud 
or wings in flight 
never to be seen again

in quite that formation

Haze surrounding 
the sun drifts fire 
particulates move 
east toward ocean 

only visible at 
sunset after clouds 
burned away 
leave dry ground 

will we know when 
the sun disappears 
at last behind 
our screens

In the quiet 
between speakers
remembering 
the train engineer 

a grandchild 
no older than three 
raises hands softly
cooing choo-choo