A surprised train rumbles past,
with four carriages of fuel,
and earlier the number 26 bus,
bubbled along, not very fast,
two passengers huddled in their own
socially distanced space,
stared through murky glass at the emptied street,
both bleak and lovely.
The air seems clean and bright and fresh,
and the sun makes stars on the loch.
I listen for cries of distress,
from behind the closed doors,
as the isolation races on.