Vermilion stars pinpoint their spinning prize.
In every direction, unscalable skies.
What wanders there beyond the edge of our reach?
A mirror we polish in collective sleep.
Every piece of the puzzle so grandiose,
desperate and careful we hold them so close.
Each pattern discovered, each truth that we weave,
is drenched in the scorn of asymmetry thieved.
Forever in beauty and blinded by awe
searching so fervent drawn in line or in law,
endlessly blessed and terrified to discuss:
The engine out there is the engine in us.