I, future

Picture by Rara Pinkman

The city
bitter solitude.
The disease has closed
restaurants and schools;
love is masked,
work is confined,
and I'm locked in a room,
enclosed by four walls,
anxiety is everywhere
and spreads mighty.
I greeted from a distance
my agenda,
well-distanced
from my torn projects
and like leaves in the wind
everything’s falling
on our faces.
And although the smell of the must
is far
I still remember
the old intoxication
and so I go out
when I am allowed,
I run out of my city
there, in the hills
under the shrubs,
all afternoon,
until the Great Sun sets,
and I bite the apple,
I savour the pulp of it.
with greedy white teeth
I savour my fate
in quarantine,
amongst the grape and the leaf,
amongst blueberries and chestnuts,
amongst pears and almonds.
I close my eyes.
I'm fine. I imagine.
I, future.