Stay home, they say, stay home.
And you think that they sound
like reprimanding parents,
and you feel like a child
as you look outside your window
and nod.
And you remember, staring beyond the window panes,
how they told you that
the sky was your limit.
But you look up now and see that your sky is the ceiling,
painted white.
Your world has a ceiling,
and your far away plans
become necessities, because your ceiling
is your sky, and Now
becomes engulfing
as you stare
and look
and nod
out your window,
like a child.