It all comes down to this, then.
Manic hand cleansing:
no beseeching of the uncaring gods:
no besmirching of immigration policies:
no longing for other days that
forever
have passed.
We share, with our cleansing routine,
a commonality
that long has been lost,
if
it
ever
existed
at all.
The parameters have been reset.
The future is ours
for
the
making.
Be secure in your loneliness,
knowing,
paradoxically,
that you are not
alone.
Count to tomorrow,
then simply
scrub
again.
Repeat.