JulyPoWriMo 10

The punctuation of this pandemic
Now passes for uninterrupted sleep
Soon numbers themselves won’t make sense without
Counting the numbers we have not counted
Like who gets to return to a normal
Resembling the normal they had before
Who can ride out the storm without riding
Into an abyss we have not seen yet
God does not have enough hands to hold them
Microscopic anti-creatures reside
Everywhere we dare not care but to look
Least of all where the seat of power drifts
Into an endless ellipsis sinking
Further out of reach not even blinking