Even now this landscape is disassembling.

The children have run out of play. 

The elders have run out of fun.

Nothing scares us anymore. 

Not ghosts or monsters or creepy

crawly things, nor things 

that go bump in the night. 

Everything once busy lies still as a bee.

Leaves startle briefly, then freeze.

All souls go still, once taking flight.

Ghosts ghosting ghosts, haunting the night.

These are dark times, and dark times call

for darker things. Demons, devils,

shapeshifting things. Dark things 

that disassemble. Things that evade the light. 
 

Note: This poem is inspired by Louise Glück’s “All Hallows” and borrows its opening line, with a twist.