Home Under Lockdown

Outside I wander and

see from afar

my home getting older,

leaving circuits of growth rings,

his scattered gray hairs - 

locks and locks.

A woven, forever rectangle

covers his white beard, 

whiskers imprinting on the side of the mouth.

Stop growing - I want to touch those

wrinkles carved on your face

hiding stories about old times.

I want to embrace your chest,

wide and open, to embosom 

the warmth of previous days.

You are on that end.

I am on this end.

We are like two ears 

hanging from the same mask.

We walk in parallel lines, together apart.

What if all the used masks

connected into a bridge – 

would I still be a free spirit

wandering around my home 

just like before this all started…