KS Culbreth

In My Fading Sight, a Sad Mist Falters

In my fading sight, a sad mist falters
as if the pale dome of a yellow
haze whose shatterings glitter a dim water;
I dozed through a poison-petalled yowl,
to cry this twisted nocturne to you. A sad mist
that dawn-promised May even yields to bare;
this weight of change – so right these fits
I’ve shone through my failing eyes, bore
through your pleasure-petalled grin and wink
before noon, before the heat has burned
the brick-cloaking mist – stirs and is awakened,
and cat-stretch yawning, I am born –
from my lifelong womb of night vision
into the lucent waters that reflect
the potent-petalled moon viscid
with an alien honey that my eyes collect.