these are monastic times
and the future is stupid,
angst for the memories.

I put the past in the back
crevice of my mind,
with those other things
that only come out in the dark
when my guard is down
and I stare at the night
behind my window cage. 

there is a photograph
in my phone
of two people
frozen in time
in Central Park,
October 2020,
and I wish I could
talk to them.