The Machine in Clouds of Ghosts

At the heart of the machine,
A single, solid, metal
Sphere within the inner core

Anchors all the other gears.
Iron and nickel, it shapes
The magnetosphere and warps

Seismic shudders crossing it
Anisotropically.
A transition in crystal

Structure, a rearrangement
Of the atoms, no big deal,
Only the generator

Of the shield that allowed life
Access to a watery,
Quietly stable planet

Where the surface thrives and dies
Over and over again,
Signal ghosts coasting the skies.