white fire dashes through the sky,
exploding into a mist of muted sparks.
the ripple in the wind,
the subtle shift of the sea; space.
constellations form across the expanse,
so tiny in the hands of the Maker.
structures from antiquity betray their distance,
the first glimpse at night.
myriad colors coalesce,
an ebb and flow of feral mystery.
who is he who strides the heights?
who is he who sustains them by his command?
25 January 2009 by Glen Alan Woods
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