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Ross Weissman

I hope this virus passes
out our world even though matter
cannot be created or destroyed
unless it’s an angel
who ascends the laws of Creation
and we know there are those sent
to take life, but the life of angels
feels beyond our reach too
unless science science science 
can rid it from us, rationalize its
flesh away and leave us with only
bone, and that bone becomes light
and that light becomes the glow
under a microscope
                                     the virus passes 
through us, killing
many of us, sickening most of us, asking
all of us to be different
                                                     if not the angel of death
won’t pretend next time he can
be conquered by the deeds of man

Ross' poetry and translations have been published in Pusteblume, Caliban Online, Blue Lyra Review, Exchanges, Ezra, and elsewhere. An alumnus of Dickinson and Harvard, Ross lives with his wife and daughter in Cambridge, MA.