When The Dying Are Unveiled
(Four Poems of the Apocalypse )
Part IV

Decensus / Mark Mosley

I asked if you were positive?
You closed your eyes saying

Yes, I am. Taking it personally
at the time of our last supper.

Unsure if shame was just
the infection of a relationship.

Everything went to hell
while it was Friday still.

Keats saw it in his palm,
blood that changed the world.

On the other side, the invisible
exploded into death.

Kids say, “going viral”
but no one really knows

how to respond to that now.
So we gamble with belief.

Three days later we look
across the morning to hear

a cry of torment or freedom
sounding so much the same.

Uncertain if we can trust
to see the dead at a distance,

a thin fabric between this
and that, a gown or shroud,

as untouchable as light
in this immediate darkness.

Decensus: Copyright 2021 by Mark Mosley. All rights reserved.

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