Lockdown

by Marion McCready

When the world stopped, all that moved
was the Clyde Firth
inside of me.

I saw no one, I heard no one.
My ruminations were stored in the great
ballrooms of the waves.

They opened like the mouths of basking sharks
closing on my thoughts,
tumbling to the shore.

Occasional raindrops on the window
became my playmates.
I did not know how alone I was.

When I stopped moving,
the Clyde was always in motion.

When I was in stasis,
the Clyde was a funfair;
its light shattering the sky all night long.