Is it not impossible to
Stalk this town in
Blind-man shades?
Surely, one would tend to think -
The winding, cobbled street, by
Texture and by horse-smell,
Butcher’s corner, stale blood
Trail, a whiff of evening ale
The silver-bearded violinist,
Hat displayed - he’s twenty quid a
Richer man,
Plus my soul in change -
Paid, and with a pause in
Sorrowful refrain
He decrees, “You are the night”
And I’ve become the night!
Dog piss, street lamp accolade
Stick-in-hand, I
Navigate the gutter trash,
The moistened promenade
By touch
By touch alone
Kelly Vinal
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/observation-touch/
