I know how far it is to the stars.
They put that sort of thing in books
and I can say that point of light
that shines over there is such a distance
and that one is a little more,
a trillion miles or so. A trifle.
What is a star but light? That light
is with us now, each star set in
tonight's vast sky, their distance the same,
each casting faint star-shadows on
our world. Forget what books might say;
we hold the stars. We always have.
Stephen Brooke ©2016
More an idea than a finished poem, I think. Whether worth finishing, I do not know.