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bike ride in capitol hill during the coronavirus pandemic, march, 2020

how divine to ride a bike in the gentle rain
a warm mist from invisible eyes in the breeze
turning the asphalt blacker than a starless night

simply sublime the flowers with petaled wings
that align the empty sidewalks and fill the massive trees
towering the row homes confined by pandemic fright

i see nobody i touch nothing but my handlebars
in the silence i too am frightened and alone
imagining the endless possibilities of infection

i ask hour by hour who’s turn it is to die
as the air fills with pollen and the dust of winter
this day my breath is strong my nostrils clear

it was so marvelous my dear I could almost sing
i pedaled through the drizzle with the thrill of speed
how sublime was my ride in the corrupted spring.

Last few words: 
How will we remember this time? I think many poems will be written about COVID-19. The new normal. Nothing is sacred.
Editing stage: 

Comments

It seems nothing will or should be sacred during this time; except life and the need to protect it. I am also sure that many poems will be written about this time. We will see more introspective works and many about being in confined spaces with partners and people that we think that we know very well. It should be a really interesting time. Nice observations about the Spring air and the feeling of being alone, yet fearing contamination with this virus. Hope we all make it through this trying time.
Be careful out there! ~ Geezer.
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Many poems will be composed around this situation. That was so with the wars also. I wonder, in years to come, will people be able to imagine these world renown places without people and traffic? Can we imagine what it was like during the wars?
It is essential that these strange times are recorded in verse so very well done.

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Critique is a compliment
Kind regards, Alan
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