Classic Poem

The eye,
a cup of milk,
a dish of light,

a pool of iris,
flickers, as it writes
its message

to the brain,
express reflection,
refraction"s train

of thought. A flash
of focus, a giant
lens for zoom.

Steady pupil
snagged on a plume
of red.

Lucifer"s aflame
in a matchstick head
and imagination curls

in a ring of gold,
strikes a vein —
optic nerve

of old —
which twitches,
swerves, and sparks

absorption"s
liquid wick.
But the lashes shutter

and lose track
as the closed mind
blinks. Black.