It was everywhere, in the streets and houses,
on farms and now in the air itself.
It had come from history and we were history
so it had come from us.
I told my artist friends who courted it
not to suffer
on purpose, not to fall in love
because it would be naturally theirs
I had sad stories of my own,
but they made me quiet
the way my parents' failures once did,
but our own, and, besides, what was left to say
when the unspeakable was out there being spoken,
exhausting all sympathy?
Yet, feeling it, how difficult to keep
the face's curtains
closed - she left, he left, they died -
the heart rising