I’m not ready for this to end. I like my mask, my half hidden face. I never liked my warped smile. I’ll delete every picture you take. I can tell you everything I know with a glance and an arched brow. I’m a natural at social distancing. Six feet under is never enough. I go deeper. As long as there’s a wall of dirt I won’t stop clawing. Until I fall through the bottom. I imagine it pure and quiet and gray. The light is like the sun through the petals of white Dahlias. Gauzy and antiseptic. I can’t get sick here. There’s nothing to catch. I’m safe and uncontagious. I can forget up from down. I can learn to throw a ball with my left. I can forget. I’m writing about digging. I’m covering my mouth when I cough. Some habits are hard to break. It’s the easiest way to do no harm. I forgot how to love. And now I can't spell the curve of your hips. The only thing I feel is the dull ache in my arm. I stay busy. Keep my mind both occupied and clear. I forget to look up, to catch the one who chooses to follow me here.