THURSDAY: Eidolon for Corona

BY FJ DOUCET

Copyright is held by the author.

We see you dip one foot
into the black waters
of the underworld. You laugh,
splash, dance on the unspeakable
edge. The descent

is easy, but when will we see the sun
again. When
will we retract our bloated skins,
our clawed hands,
from the cold grip of this viral
spring. No amount of views
can make this one

beautiful. Warm,
foolish ones, you need not listen
closely to hear the howling dead. To see
our grey faces pressed to the surface
tension. Don’t,

our shade-thin voices counsel, slip in
deeper. Though we once loved you,
should you submerge, we cannot promise
we will be good. We do not enjoy our rest. We
drag our chains through the black mud
of this impossible river-
bed, groaning

feral hunger. How is it,
in your feckless dancing, any of you
still dwell on the far, bright shore?

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