Another Virus

We are what we give, 

legion, we see nothing, 

feel less, we, 

RNA, lipid membrane, 

protein on protein 

where our envelopes 

are spiked 

and ride fomites

in the air 

between air, wet 

and borne to attach

barbed as we are 

with a plumage of claws, 

we take 

to anything: cardboard, steel, 

and, if you give us the chance, 

any endotracheal tube, 

or ventilator,

but mostly

your breath, 

eyes, lips, 

a throat,

then any 

of the 600 million 

alveoli you own

and we 

hook into, 

settle in, 

release our charge 

to start small, 

writing a deluge 

in repeating stanzas  

measured in billionths 

of a meter, 

inflammation drawing 

from the school of hypoxia

while setting capillaries 

to burst 

with more fluid, all blocking 

the oxygen your tissue  

your blood

your you needs 

to keep being you, 

we finish, destroy the host, 

and repeat,

leave a signature 

in scars, 

fibrosis to force 

your heart to work harder

with the strain we dole out

to remember us by,

if we let you

keep remembering anything,

but, sometimes,

we’ll settle 

for pneumonia,

we cover 

many a base, 

it’s not in us

to not, 

and you 

overreact, 

macrophages blaring

the immune system’s alarm 

by way of cytokines,

call in more 

and more of their kind, become 

a storm: binding receptors

in panic-mode, too much

that stays around

too long, racks up 

inundation, and you

can’t breathe, 

your best people aren’t sure 

if this is what’s happening

or if we’ve mystified

the defense inside you

the same way

we’ve mystified

your best of your people,

we can’t say

what we’re doing,

this is not a voice, 

and we have no opinion, 

it’s obvious, however, 

that we 

don’t need help, 

but, we aren’t mad at it, 

either, 

we aren’t mad 

at anything, 

but are not without love 

for your neglect, 

or this fullness

of ego, 

these streams

ample and bright

with the certainty 

that we won’t 

make this worse.

COVID-19 (pastel on construction paper, April 10, 2020)