One Red Line

In the waiting minutes

Working at the old table

With its creaking screws

I use up the time

Supping builders’ tea…

…One red line appears:

On are hauled the boots

And, stooping under the low-lintel,

The garden gate open,

I press my foot on the forest floor

On tanned autumnal leaves

Crisp and curled

From the heat of high summer

Like tinder ready to burn

Reaching for a second life

Nodding past the outsiders

I ship no accusing looks

Suffer no shouts of Unclean

My Covid sentence served;

A prisoner welcomed home

Like the Sons of Adam

Wandering the Earth, infected

Waiting for the soldier’s spear

Running with water and blood

Set free by one red line