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1.

In plague years, so the chronicler tells us,

they counted the dead in days of silence

and kept the priests from their bells

lest the sound remind the living

that their death had a name

and snap the delicate mooring lines

of those drifting humors

that held soul to body,

and body to earth.

In this time of plague,

perhaps we will be spared their fate

if the bells are not allowed to stop --

a death toll constantly kept --

and history is written with their ringing.

2.

Today the forecast calls for hail,

and yesterday we got two feet

of frogs. Tomorrow locusts,

due by noon. Soon, we will

do nothing but crouch beneath

the darkening sky and wonder

what falls next. I watch

while others wade red rivers,

up to their thighs in tears and rubble

and through it all, I stole

a season and was happy.

In this time of plague,

you were the blood

on my lintel.