Movement, into open,
this Earth is now an ocean
and our toes eager to taste the tide again.
Roads are waves,
cars are accompanying dolphins,
schools of fish, cruising outside of classrooms.
Movement, into open,
we are astronauts
teaching ourselves how to stabilise our legs
on old streets that come to us
like giant steps onto new moons.
Motion sickness
triggered in these minor moves
we used to make blindfolded
and now take, breathless.
We are bouncing Ariels and Armstrongs.
Movement, into open
with that far field still stuck to the sole,
masked now
with vaccined assurances
where before we had a hat and that hurry.
Minor movements we are making;
the universe no longer as big
as a 20 minute bus ride that drops us off
in leaps of elated exhaustion.
And so, even more,
we say thank you to the drivers of busses
and trains and taxis and check-out assistants
and shop keepers and sales teams
and chemists and nurses and doctors
and the girl who stabbed me yesterday
with Pfizer and a 15 minute
pause to preserve.