I have seen faces
in the last months
that will be forever
marked on my calendars
as faces I saw first in
Bushey Park during
the time of Covid.
People I’ll nod to
on the street, we’ll know
we went through this
but never spoke.
We’ll be etched by it,
we will know each other,
acquaintances made in
this long, quiet
Season of Solitude.
We will have lived this,
we’ll nod to each other
on packed buses, in
super market aisles.
We’ll appear to each other
like people remembered from
a dream we never woke from.
We’ll wonder who we are now.
The slurred hours by the
pond in Bushey Park,
the time
we walked
the time
we waited.
We will know
each other
again.