The Great Dyeu

To the eye, just two bright dots
Of light, like stars, but not—

So close, at a glance, they’re one,
Each a glass for the sun.

But they’re not close, of course, no
More than they’re stars. We know

Things now. Which one has the rings,
Which the most moons—those things

That don’t stop us from long stares
Up through the near clear air.

All our words and counts told us
Those were gods in our dusk.