The languid water of a fountain
rises to a steady height, collapses
upon itself, splashing
a stone bowl on a pedestal.
The elliptical pool ripples
in the afternoon’s light air.
This is where people gather
to be alone or with others,
where children lend their
exuberance – festive – to
the otherwise tranquil scene.
We are in the midst of a plague,
but you wouldn’t know it, just as
we don’t know we won’t exist
someday every day. Perhaps it is
because we never will die – but
that is at best a belief and more
likely a faith in benignity.
The plague gathers impetus and
victims, passing among us before
it, too, passes away. No death, no life.