moby no

Forty-something below,
            The past becomes an octopus.
      I’ve witnessed and too-tendrilled know:
  It’s an unblinking escape artist—
      Need a trinket to see save drowning.

      But let it veer deep as sixgills go;
  Pike-skewer a star, instead, my dear!
      Fish not for the sun-submerging—
            On hook-n-spear, stick any beam
Worth a skyward-follow.