Solitude

Tip toe in dark where mushrooms grow One step at a time into the cellar cold Where hollow finds a niche in soils void Barefooted through chambers down below Bottles covered in dust line up to count The years of vintage since they’ve been found By flashlight or human being in social distancing A fragile ancient hand waves cobwebs away Like a magician in the act of prestidigitation To find the proper drink for this occasion Take solace in the black on black tonight When you return Netflix will have your back