Pinholes in this blue-black dome
dazzle my senses,
while this ever present clammy cloak
weighs heavy on my skin.

Iguanas and other denizens of the dark…
foraging while the island sleeps.

Piercing the still of night
roosters crow,
because they can.

Meanwhile my

meandering stream of thoughts
surrender to gravity’s force,
finding my lowest valley.

And how shall I succeed in love?

Its convoluted and errant path
leads me through magnificent valleys
of fertile splendor,
to deserts so barren and void,
of the capacity for life.

Vision blurred by my humanness
I latch on to fleeting scraps of knowing,
glimpses of intuitive insight,
trail markers to guide me;
remembering sagely words that inspire
when consciousness opens to raising.

In darkness I seek illumination,
finding it in stillness,
back to raison d’etre
in my nocturnal demeanor.
Copyright Henri Ferguson 2003
All rights reserved.