A Poem not yet Written

A voice echos in my head
a heavenly choral refrain
chanting words from a poem
not yet written.
Marcel is a soft spring scent
an escaped ethnic flavor of San Jose
and I am an essential worker in these dire days.
Echoing despair singing bitterness
emojis might suffice in the retell
but that’s not what poetry is for.
So, when the cat gets your tongue
don’t let it eat your lunch.
Fleeting friendship of ideas
rear their ugly heads in anonymity
in yet another circle I am free
from that which holds me.
The door has sprung and exit
is allowed out of the choir’s chapel.