We are above the sky
and over the sea.
The stars beckon to our wandering hearts,
begging us to hold them in our hands.
We have forgotten the feel of gravity.
The vast, black sky screams silence
to our ears.
Our hands are tangled in stardust,
and we desperately search
for sense in the night.
We look for connecting lines
between stars to make pictures of the things we know.
Why must we try to make sense
of the impossible?
The impossible wishes to remain impossible,
yet we still send men to the stars.
We send them to float among the planets,
and we know that the impossible may not be so impossible.
We are all condensed patches of the sky.
Each one of us is composed of stardust
and a small galaxy.
We are universes separate from one another.
We exist in our thoughts.
Our whole head is a galaxy.
We are part of the sun.
We radiate and glow,
and the whole solar system knows of us.
We are stardust.
