Cold worlds, formed of the debris of stars,
Embers of heaven in endless spectacles,
Wordless art galleries attest the ineffable,
Orbs hewn by powers in galactic wars,
Left barren and beautiful.
Endless are the artful surfaces, frozen or afire,
Which crater, crack, or crag o'er rolling horizons,
Pooling elements reflecting glorious denizens --
-- Suns trilling deep o'er the expanse, a vast choir.
A pining of loving and rueing.
Each star born as love fires in nebula nurseries,
Cast out like fledglings to join stellar throngs,
One watery world of one fledgling star-songs,
A canticle uniting each breath in a sanctuary.
God's language and liturgy.
That earth should suckle the One,
Maker of suns, our brother-son.
This comely sphere radiates the divine breath,
Seen swaying in the wind or galloping o'er planes,
Look up, like a cub licking in a cool spring rain.
Soar, leave earth, stars, 'ere the edge of death,
Beloved of star maker.
Laud,
Laugh,
Love.
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