Ken's Poetry

Night Blind

No night-scope lights this landscape
brings form and phantom to the fuzzy dark.
For me, only the damp of night light
sucked into the hungry hollow of my eye
and deep into the fold and furrow of the brain
where different light glows with misty ghosts
floating among the distant ranks of trees
and fluorescent memory edges swerve and sway
in random dance, auroras of the mind.
Up there beyond the stratospheric curve
still stars hang, observe from outer space
this inner space on the precipice of night.