The universe is a pale backdrop
Filled by a sea of jet spots,
Light peaking through,
Splitting through
The encompassing darkness.
And when they are pushed
Out by a bold flash of light,
They are not hot,
I can collect them
Feel them tumble across the creases
Of my hands like gelid marbles,
Yield them in one place
Spin them on my vessel,
Make them dance,
Sit with legs crossed and observe,
The sun beam on their silhouettes,
Until they extend across the quarterdeck
Becoming longer, stronger,
Until the sun descends west.

Penned by my hand on the 17th of Glacian, in the year 715 AF.