And when this ends we will emerge, shyly
and then all at once, dazed, longhaired as we embrace
loved ones the shadow spared, and weep for those it gathered in its shroud.
Now we will count to twelve and we will all keep still.
For once on the face of the earth, let’s not speak in any language;
let’s stop for one second,
and not move our arms so much.
What if you knew you’d be the last
to touch someone?