Celestial, the globe you turn,
the microcosm in your hand,
each star imparting worlds to learn,
mechanics you must understand.

Copernicus once leaned like you,
found revolutions in the spheres,
then calculated planets, too,
and now you search for finer gears,

why constellations circulate,
and how a comet loops through skies,
notating angles, mass, and rate,
elusive clues before your eyes.

At times, you almost have it right
until some figure fails to fit.
You map from morning into night,
as far the cosmos will permit.

A theory sets you on a path.
You sense there's more than mortal math.
The universe propels past cause,
and thus, you wonder, and you pause.