with apologies to Gabriel Garcia Marquez Raise the yellow flag that marks disease. This lonely ship will not soon come to rest in port of comforting communion, or cease to sail. We berth on isolation’s breast and pray for peace, though at a frightening cost we’d have been wiser not to pay. The rest you know. Too many years like waves have tossed us to and fro to break now with the lie: “’Tis only ‘til we’re finally across this yawning chasm, this darkening divide that makes us a society of strangers, closeted ‘til viruses subside….” And then? Shall we then brave the dangers that drift malevolent, like random microbes or evil humors, insults, sudden angers, in the daily current? ‘Twill not be so. This boat’s no recent shelter. Here’s the tragedy: we booked our passage on it long ago. Social distance is the commended remedy for illnesses that take their mortal toll. But social distance is also the malady that keeps the body well but kills the soul.