The Long March

A poem

I cannot see you, smell you
Or feel you
Yet
I know that you are there
Hanging like thick pollen
After the first breath of warmth
On an early spring morning
Silently stalking
As a thief in the night
Omnipresent as the fear
Of humankind
It is early still
The sun is barely over the horizon
The time of day, though, matters not
This death keeps no clock
It grows and adapts
Dispassionately
Like some kind of AI
Then entering, it asks me a question
Will you adapt and survive?