The refrigerator goes dark.
You suspect rationing of
electricity. No brownouts are
mentioned in the
newsfeeds but you feel
powerlessly convinced
that your energy is
restrained at
some times of day and
in certain weather.
No evidence exists but
in your solitude the
theory grows wings —
fat, hoary, mossy wings that
exalt in murky conclamation,
randomly plundering
disparate histories of
flattering anecdotes and
obsequious chronologies that
dismiss the blandness of
today, embracing
nostalgia’s bitter tooth.