Corona

There's a monster outside
that can play pinochle with your life.
We dare not find it
Even the sunshine
is not ours. If we play
we have to play alone.
This is the kind of monster
that haunts nightmares.
You can call it with
dangerous words that make
forms for fright.
Here in the twilight
I still live. Sculpting joy out of
candles and messanges.
Unpacking toys.