A fear of movement, the smell of inert,

a taste of impotence, the touch of air,

grasping blindly for the black words

of truth in the dark room.

It seems crowded, and yet there is only

the fear of the unknown, there is no thinking

yourself along the way, no hand to guide

to the next acquaintance with anything.

There are no photographs developed here,

or amber-colored safe light,

it has been said that ‘something must be

for something to be said.’

The amateur blindman surreally realizes

it’s not his thought that becomes the work.

Struggling as he does for metaphysical

epiphanies, black cats in the night,

it is the work of fumbling through

the dark that becomes the poem.

Craig Kirchner is retired and living in Jacksonville. He loves the aesthetics of writing, has a book of poetry, Roomful of Navels, and has been nominated three times for a Pushcart. Craig's writing has been published in Chiron Review, Main Street Rag and dozens of others. He houses 500 books in his office and about 400 poems on a laptop; these words help keep him straight. Craig can be found on Bluesky.