I sit near the window,
riveted to the sounds of an ear- splitting silence.
Masked humanity lumbers in the dark,
stark terror etched on faces.
In the room, Leonard Cohen soulfully sings
about cracks in everything,
I hear a pigeon yodeling,
and a tiny robin puffs out its chest,
testing its notes in the silent air.
On my mental screen, I see an octogenarian, in a hospital room,
thumping a triumphant fist in the air,
silently celebrating his victory over the virus.
I glimpse a sliver of bright light,
insinuating itself through a crack
and flooding the gloomy room.
The pigeon yodels on,
and the robin appears to have struck the right note
after all the testing.