Showering in the dark

It is nine-thirty and the power

has gone out. Both sides of the street

are dark, and so is the row of houses

behind ours. That moon they called

a sugar moon blazed brighter than

a stadium light the other night--- 

fainter now, behind a screen of rain.

Not even the whoosh of tires on asphalt 

or the usual plaintive questioning of owls.

Flashlight on shelf, I shower in the dark.

Mostly by feel, I run soap-slicked hands

from crown to heel, lathering over and 

around, in every hollow; then close my eyes

and tilt my head for the absolving rinse.