Wires slither, crawling up
Sides of houses and weaving their way across rooftops.
The village breathes through veins of blackened cords,
Each strand a silent messenger,
Binding walls and windows,
Threading through the sky in tangled, wavering lines.
Above, the network grows — 
A web
Spun by invisible powers,
Connecting every soul to another,
Unseen but felt.
Tentacles stretch from pole to pole,
Searching, grasping, crawling through holes in the walls,
Drawing us closer
In the hush of electric hum,
While below, shadows flicker
As the serpents glide overhead,
Linking us all together, both captive and free.

By Diane E. Dockum

©April 28, 2026