All our lights glimmer, blaze
like gaudy baubles beneath
the vernal sky. So proud we
are for our treasures built high
to dwarf the stars. Here, they are
but subjects to Orion,
seated above, who hovers,
regaled in his full glory
amid the milky expanse.
In Sebewaing, the darkness
is canvas of creation
the masterstroke of divine
pen; the heavens ring with the
heraldry and majesty
of their Creator and our
banality is made full
manifest, a mere idle
distraction, fractions in
scope and scale. Unseen wedding
of surf and shore mocks our royal
hubris; the grandeur of
galaxies illustrates our
insolence. No stirring moon to
intrude, spitefully upon
our sundering. We meet and
are met, in the echoing
stillness and silence, exposed,
unadorned, and found wanting.
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