One Night on the Ridge

Immeasurable stars over night's mountains
Challenge the eye to identify patterns
In scattered plentitude, like mist from Roman fountains;
Constellated confusion of a million Saturns.

The face, a pale moon itself, beams upward to seek meaning,
While still maples hide behind night's cloak;
Puffs of breath blur the clarity of each star's gleaming
But re-affirm life... then dissipate, like a comet's smoke.

Stars won't share their sound with us,
But their fires spark our perceptions of time and distance
And stoke our mythologies of a belt, or of a necklace,
Making light the impediment of gravity's resistance.

Our planet glows only in reflecting another star,
As we stand on this chemical stew we call dirt.
Speculating on the light reaching us from afar;
The fastest we know of, yet seemingly inert.

Our miracles are out of reach and comprehension
Yet we crave them no less than when we didn't know as much.
Disbelief and belief: both held in willing suspension,
While spiritual guides provide us the necessary crutch.

It's enough to believe in one another on this humble globe,
Although we know only as much as we know Mars.
We leave it to blind faith to guide each probe,
And hope for a beacon as bright as a star's.