The Night Cycle

It bears down out of the stars,
A shadow machine driven
By the absence of engine,

A well-oiled system of gears
That spin smoothly, silently,
A nonsensical techne.

It’s hunting down Ptolemy
To tangle him in its wheels.
Telescopes can see the spokes

In exposures too short-lived
To collapse in the spinning.
Sooner or later, someone

Will shake loose from that spinning,
To become night’s rim and hoop.