Pandemic

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Everything is loud and scary
It’s chaos
And panic
And madness
There’s nothing I can control

So I become quiet
And my hands get busy 
I make stock —
Roasted chicken 
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Garlic
Onions
Liquid gold

We create in silence
And slowly 
The panic turns to peace
Madness to the mundane
And chaos to clarity

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What Will Come of It?

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My Own Faith