Raining Dark In Pandemic Times

It rains on this shell, my home,
It rains on this city -
Where the walking-sleeping-living-dying
Wait for a miracle at the far end of a queue -
For a closed door to open with a burst of light;
Where the dark has entered pores and smothers dreams,
Where the flesh of night is lightning gashed,
Where birdsongs will serenade the dead when there is dawn,
Where hope is a rain clean pebble in a park
Sunk in the litter of abandoned toys,
Where animals stagger in the streets growling and crying;
It rains on this shell, my home,
It rains on this city.