Blizzard white streets
line our city
sifted with fear.
Blue skies above
hiding enemy breath
ready to attack 
unsuspecting hosts.
Our homes
once lively and vibrant
withdraw to silent
lemon scent lysol 
war zones.
Ninty per cent alcohol
for our hands
hands that touch and hold
caress and scratch
tap and text.
Our worst foe
bringing havoc 
to the center of our lives.
But people are people.
Evening dusts
computer screens with song.
People reach people
across balconies
across seas
half a world apart
isolated but not alone
people connect.
Puccini's "Nessun Dorma"
soars
"we will be victorious."