Stone of silence,
five kilometers wide,
thirty-three billion tons—
it breathes steam into night
and does not move.

A fire hose cannot fell a mountain.
Gravity sings,
the beast obeys.

Loeb cries pilot!
the orbit shouts no!
No twitch.
No veer.
No hand on the helm.

Yet light betrays it—
polar blaze wrong,
mirror strange,
a shimmer unmade by comets.

Here is the wound.
Here is the song.
Not control, not gods,
but photons screaming mystery,
burning our eyes
with the rumor of more.