Beneath the vaulted canvas of night, celestial bodies twirl.
An unseen orchestra controls their fate, scripting dances in
cosmic ink. Each twirl, a stanza; each leap, a verse.
In the ink-splotched margins of the universe,
comets scribble fleeting thoughts, and planets doodle
elliptical daydreams.
We, stardust incarnate, try to keep pace.