seeing only streetlight’s incandescence
instead of the illumination of nature.
The eye is blinded by imitation, coronas
blazing, fading out the sky, covering
night’s soft beauty, turning it into false day.
At work’s end, I travel home away from
the constant stimulation, the incessant
24-hour daylight, into the softness painted
midnight-blue, pierced only with crystal light,
glowing in the blanket overhead, and rediscover
the wondrous shapes above from tales told
and retold around campfires, and the endless
dreams flying through the sky.