Moon illusions, set in sky-screens, change from bulls
   to wretch'd wrens in magic moments through the lens
   of imagination; someone take me back along the moonlit path,
   where cum'lus clouds go dancing by the moon.  Ever since that sunset, the moon's been on my mind---
shore-line fractures, smiling eyes and you---and you.
Have you seen the sky so naked to the eye?
Take me back to where the magic moon illusions lie.

Moon illusions sweep the sunset to the dustpan of the trees,
   where centerboards can harmonize with
   monumental moonlit moments forty thousand miles away,
   while dotted fields of dancing daisies moon.
Have you raised the moosails?  The moon shines in the glass.
Illuminated frisbees ride the air.  But where?
Have you seen the sky so naked to the eye?
Take me back to where the magic moon illusions lie.

When the skyline brightens, cartoon clouds reveal a boar.
When the skyline darkens, moonbeams filter through an eye
---a highered clown.

Moon illusions often linger, pointing out a silver finger
   to the zealous eyes that wait below
   in syncopated anticipation, reconnoitering correlations,
   discovering the tauntings of the moon---
tepid, tender tauntings: the moon permits a glow.
Sitting back, we all enjoy the show.
Oh, have you seen the sky so naked to the eye?
Take me back to where the magic moon illusions lie.

Where they lie.
Where they lie.
Where they don't tell the truth.