Power

Last night was a winter storm,
the kind with weighted ice-snow and winds
from the north--
the kind of winter storm leaving frozen shells
around power lines and tree limbs.
Not a good pairing, the two,
when loaded branches crack and tumble
in a glacial cascade of ice and sparks atop
electric lines, so power full.

That was the kind of storm we had last night.
The kind of winter storm that one falls asleep to,
its oddly lulling whistle of wind
seeping through window seams--
the sound of nature in extremis--
and waking in the morning to a breathless house,
and frozen vistas outside the windows,
and vacant, blank LED lights on clocks throughout,
no red and green and blue deathstare of time, now powerless.

It is only me this morning, and the dog, in the quiet
where normally there is muted buzz of electric surge,
and vented hiss of heated air, and gentle flow of time.
But now the house rests empty of energy.
Now time has stopped
in this house which I quickly scour for blankets,
knitted warmth, quilted fabric of memory and hours.
This house where--once life has been restored--
empowered, I will decide to leave the clocks alone.