This Poem Composed in Real Time Became This Story Once Last Summer

Late in the afternoon,
The electricity
Stopped. The heat held its breath.

How does the narrative
Go from here? You can guess,
But you can never know

All that’s next from what is,
What’s next from all that is.
There’ll always be a gap,

The gap is always now
As next becomes the past.
Don’t be tempted to touch

The refrigerator
Door. Don’t go out your door.
Watch the sun burn the cliffs.

The power’s not on yet.
The power’s not on yet.
The power’s not on yet.

If prophets were real, real-
Time storytellers, what
Would stories become then?

Imagine novelists
Like Cassandra, but heard—
Now this, now this, now this—

Never wrong, and the crowds
Quietly attentive.
Quiet crowds will wait next,

Intones the prophet, and
So it is. So it is,
The power is just back!