Everything I knew in the daylight 
is now dark and different. Things 
that were in their respective 
place has now moved around 
like lost sheep. 

Maybe if they bleat, 
but could you hear them 
if they come creeping back?  
But they don’t.

But you’re in the dark. 
Hands swirling,
fingers like claws, a spark
of light 
from the above windows, 
god? The glimmer 
of truth? 

The neighbor’s light 
that shines in the darkness 
is protective?
It’s an unnatural glow. 

Is it running away from the field 
of my vision, 
or has it come to the front door?	
Or an idea turned to light? 

And I wait, 
rotating in the dark 
the glow 
of twilight comes, 
and the clock chimes four. 

A snap, a twig, a branch, 
yelping my toes,
then a sound comes calling 
on the other side 
of a snap
then water, 
then lucid, 
finding the lost lamb.