Anonymous
When it’s all over
We will all know someone
or sometwo
or too many
I can’t say things were innocent before
That the world was a simpler place
It wasn’t.
If anything,
It is now that things are simple:
Everything unrelated is extraneous
The world on Pause
Our realities merged
And when it’s all over
It won’t really be over
It will be a scar
Somehow devoid of sensation
Yet calling to memory the excruciating pain
The waiting to hear that he has developed a cough
Or she has a fever to 103
Sirens through empty streets,
the endlessness of it all