Self-love in a time of coronavirus: 'To Victoria Harbour'

“Fire with fire”, we are black speckled ash 
Vowing to not be remnants of vehemence 
But rather glorious cinders in our water dance. 
Swarming into streets; desperately we amass. 

But can Bauhinias bloom from corpses? 
No matter how much oil you add? No – 
Peppered tongues and disabled into rubber 
An “Eye for an eye,” that metallic murmur – 

Do not forget. That the frog from the well 
Was probably better off blind. Now tell us 
Of one golden sun. 
Of one blue ocean.