None of us understood the secret darkness of the blackboards
Nor why the armillary sphere seemed so remote when we looked.
We only knew a circumference can be other than round
That an eclipse of the moon confuses flowers,
And advances the timing of birds.

None of us understood a thing;
Nor why our fingers were made of India ink
And afternoon closed compasses for dawn to open books.
We only knew that a straight line, if required, can be curved or broken,
And wandering stars are children ignorant of arithmetic.