The question, When will I see you again?
becomes a doxology of sorts when
the lighting of candles is added to each
rise and fall of praise and of mourning.
Assemblies gather before deadlines
delayed again by postponed weather
arrangements conveniently called
out by experts in front of green screens.
Story and science blur into one myth
before the altar of truth in the long
history of human beings once again
having a difficult and dangerous time.
People cheer the completion of first drafts
with no sense for or need of resolution
that might be recorded in the shining annals
of the impromptu history of humankind.