Across the chalky, dust-strewn stone,
The glass-spun watchers stand alone.
Transparent bones of clear design,
Aligned beneath a grand design.
They lift their gaze to cosmic deeps,
Where thought unspools and never sleeps—
A stellar mind of fire and lace,
That births the galaxies of space.
From neural spark to planetary ring,
The silent chorus starts to sing:
We are the lens through which it sees,
The stardust shaped by histories.