Poem of the Day

I know not the name of the star upon which I gaze,
nor the chemical composition or concentration of the haze
through which travel its immemorial rays
unmeasured by consciousness of days;
A maze of human affectation
maintained through map and constellation
gives this star an apropos appellation
which escapes me.
Its spectral variation notwithstanding
glimmers through the ozone, smog, and air
imparting grandiose visions
ephemeral and nebulous as the stellar nursery
from which it coalesced into being.
Its magnitude outshines the luminescence
of lighters, candles, lamps, fluorescent bulbs
granting dreams of four- and five-year-olds
and sharing secrets with observant seekers
intent on learning its significance in the cosmic sense of the word.
Boring.
I prefer to dwell instead
on the infinite spans separating our galaxies.
Perhaps its influence is strong.
Perhaps the distance is necessary.