Infinity

Oh how compact you are, wee planisphere,
With all of heaven squished into a disk!
But do you have a midnight sonneteer
Assuming newfound literary risk?
Your glory will not admire itself
Or celebrate your emulating sky
Reduced by some astronomical elf
Into circles the rest of us can try.
In comparing heaven's grace, with volvelles,
A man risks being thought of as a perv
But perversion requires intimate smells
No where near analemma's curve
And I, with my modest sonneteering,
Think merely as... a geometer,
Contemplating heaven's engineering
With a built in cadent fathometer
Listening for the music of the spheres
Which here on Earth are always in arrears,
So when they show I cannot help but stare,
And be glad it's always midnight somewhere!