Silence roused us from our sleep,
Once the blackout killed the clock
And hushed the strangely soothing hum
Of everyday appliances.
We got up in the night half-dressed,
And stepped outside in stocking feet
Past sprinklers chattering in the grass,
And walked the trees that line our street.
On any other night, we’d find them
Standing in a line, possessed
By cold, insomniatic light
That hid the stars in endless day.
But settled deep in native dark,
In calm surrender to the moon,
Their bodies stood like cows that sleep
Dreaming as they gently swayed.
And as we watched the slow cascade
Of sun-lit moon to moon-lit leaves
Casting arcs of unlit shade
On concrete blocks and asphalt streets,
We felt removed, as if we stood
Upon the brink of wilderness,
Until the street lights blinked and gazed,
And washed the wilderness away.
That night I dreamt, beside the gate,
A young white oak, made bold by spring.
Grew beside a wildwood path.
To tell me it was time to stray.
Charles Webb is a child psychologist, who lives in Wilmington, Delaware with his wife, two sons and dog, Roscoe. Writing poems provides him with a creative outlet and some small justification for his decision to major in English. He is an occasional contributor to The Broadkill and BellaOnline Literary Reviews.