Last week

It’s okay It’s okay to wake with an aluminium can in your chest, To take twice as long To do half as much, To become lost in the cosmic space of a leaf, or the question, “How are you doing?”

It’s okay To miss the humdrum of bodies in movement, The absence of ceilings The comfort of doors.

It’s okay to find pleasure in the silence of distance, Intimacies mediated – a disheveling of rhythms.

It’s okay to not know exactly how many people are sick, are dead, are haphazardly buried Today. It’s okay. It’s okay.

It’s okay to have nothing to spare Not even a question, Or a gentle nudge, Or a comma in the shape of a stitch.

Your every particle is drenched with the weight of grief.

Rest your heart to the ground. It’s okay.