and the power whines. The dead pan hum
of the house becomes unchorused.
We head outside
to see which homes still have light.
The street lamps have dimmed
into darkness claimed by the moon
flashing her own floodlight on the street.
Some birds rustle in the leaves
restless from a disturbance
they can sense but not assimilate.
The chained terriers yelp madly
in their mangy fur. The neighbor's fence
has several palings missing. Others stand
upright as we pass, long shadows between
old standin stones
searching with our torch
for the source of failure. For what
has stepped in to steal the force
that makes all things plugged in
gospel. For what has come
to let stars, fire and storytelling
possess the next hours --
our lips a stoop
for words coming back
hesitant but remembered.