Isolation sonnet, 5

All day at the desk by the big sliding glass doors while
the contagious world gradually greens, shifts of
flowers rise and fall in the breeze. Safety-yellow daffodils
bow out to a cluster of tulips, bulbs squirrels planted
and forgot and which surprised us when they emerged.
The longer we’re in here out here, the more I feel in touch
with the birds and rabbits, chipmunks and juncos, than
I feel with those I once shared work space with.
Casual conversation with acquaintances seems like
a strange dream now, a lost skill. Out here, the drama
of bug-hunting robins and grackles matters more.
Deep within red tulips, a dark six-sided sanctum sanctorum
is rimed in yellow, dusty stamens waiting for carpenter bees
to take back to the homes they would burrow into our home.