Quarantine, or How to Change the World From Home

The water can change the rock,
touch it gently,
manipulate its shape like love
in the heat of evening.
You are the rock;
I am the evening.
Our movement is stalactite dripping.
Together, we shrink
as lingering dew,
blisters forming on the soles of our feet.
You cave, you bend, you
shake and whimper
in time with the mid-March breeze.
I can only watch,
sunset lingering in the
crevices above.