Opaquely piqued, the stare of small black pupil.
Perplexed, through spec’s perspex, he checks for flaw
In universe inversed to his fine scruple…
“‘Cos mos’ of us, we take what’s seen for granted;
As us, in blinkered fashion, do stars claim
Locked eyes for fools in plots where they are planted,
Like limpets, in vast seas, clung to rocked brain?”
“Uncanny grasped, the star’s tin-cling does foil me!
So rapt I‘m lad, afresh I’d see the skies.”
“In many gasps, I clam up, for words fail the
Occasion of sight muscling for my eyes.”
Now struck, the black-eyed sky white pupil teaches…
So lunar-sea gifts shift in grain of beaches!
