A Pome a Day for a Year

Beige box buzzing to the right on wood
pulled out from single raised bed.
A child’s first desk
though began life as kind of a fort
area to sit underneath and
bury with books till nothing but
a forgotten shadow.

Grey point passes over colourful icons
halting upon blue and white,
excitement palpable
     (and with a swift double tap)
the universe held within
bursts open.

There is only the boundless
and the fingers,
tandem agents vow:
to never part,
to eternal collaboration.
Tempus remit
     (though they never know)
until sleepy eyed fury erupts;
volcanic anger laced with worry.

Pact twixt mental and intangible
that the future will never waver,
that we have landed on the new norm
     (and though broken)
animosity is a ghost,
a return of partners
to a well loved dance.