It's true, afar still hung in blackest space,
That you, like them, too have some grace. You curl
Yourself around these empty worlds, and make
Distinct the umbral planes you break, for whom
To see by contrast-cheaply, loosely, too?
You hide your face behind a mask-its spots
Confuse the simple scheme. Locate your core.
You seek proximity, yet all around
There's such a deep infinity of stars.
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