Life is moving in slow motion,
the world is still outside my window —
the sound of the trucks collecting snow,
and the sound of my neighbor’s radio
come in from the street and up through the floor
to greet me in my silence.

Somewhere, the sun is pouring across the clouds;
somewhere, the grass is green;
and my apple by the window
is rotting, like me —
although I cannot see it now,
I know it must be.

≋

March 1, 2021
Saint-Jean-Baptiste, Québec City