Retreat to Pangaea

This place, so often covered in condensation, is dry

Sun interjects darkness through thinly veiled curtains

The clear, intense new year makes its presence known

It jostles me into a reality filled morning

Must we already start anew; why not pause between the years

There is loneliness as I swim in my bed, wishing for rest

Waves of down and cotton drown the light

I lay beneath waves made of blanket

We are all separate

We are all islands

My bedside table, covered in coffee rings and worn books

The tree house with lanterns illuminating with soft light

The child playing piano in the park

A song filling the quiet with intense rhythm

They are periodic dots in the water

Single stars of a constellation we once knew the story of

Hoping to be a part of something bigger than a moment in time

I walk through crowds, like a salmon struggling upstream

People balance between optimism and exhaustion

A heaving throng on cement, breath bursting like clouds into the sky above

Streets filled with promises we won’t keep and air we once used

We are islands attempting to form a landmass

Constantly reaching out to one another

A dance without embracing

Lives that will never interlink

We’re on our own

This is earth alone in the vastness of an unnamed sea

We are archipelagos composed of vulnerabilities and a masked faith