The directions, all the points
Of every potential quarter
Into an arc surrounding all
To a dome all heavens wide
I know the sun and the moon
Their movement and purpose
I mark the place of Polaris
On these impossible heights
I craft them for flowing blood
Precise for silver, precise for gold
In solitude I measure out
The range of barren lands
I draw into the nothingness
I look at one clear point
I see them all come together
This here is my place, it is my work
I was made the maker of the sky
I am the maker of the sky
I am the forger of the arc