towards humility

How vast the cosmos, the inescapability of depth,
the scope by which galaxies are clouds
of dust. Consider the shapes of nebulae,
the deep breath of the eye that shapes them thus.
How meaningless the quarrels of humanity.
Expansive the star's bright cradle's comfort,
deep the hole of its dying despair.
Can you sing across the galaxies?
What black well shall your suffering make?
Never draw the lines of constellation
for fear of painting with dead stars;
you know no better, nor could you learn.