Raping the innocence of twilight,
sieving through the dank aura of a vast horizon,
lending us spates of winks from an azure clime;
they're intermittent spots of silent light at night,
prestigious princes of pomp,
enduring seeds of the sky.

When above our eyes we lift,
to behold the heightened abode of the gems,
we ponder and wonder how it's not a stone
throw-
yet incessant like the cock's crow.

Dense,
enormous-
basking hitherto in the palatial residence of space;
spherical forces of energy amorphous.
From obsolete days to the now,
they like famished leeches have clung to the earth's roof-
miniature pebbles tough as hoof.

Masters of mischeif,
fervid clusters of deceit-
letting us assume that they're bred to beam only
at light's escape, tugging our minds' hem to
beLIEve that they're truly petite.

Like a hospitable lot and the score plus four Sages-in-cabinet of the Almighty, they ooze celestial pulchritude-
an extended ancient family of constellations in
multitude.
Our essence is not known, we know-
because our days are far gone on row.
Ever taciturn we wish not to knot our grandson; Sun.
On this pride we have no pride.
...