An Unencompassed poem

Broken compasses of my old, broken, life at last, perhaps, are cast away as I invent a new geometry. But the perfection of a circle lurks beyond pond ripples or a ring of smoke. My pattern stays as scattered as the stars'. I am the planets' moons, while also sun. My galaxies spill over in their dance. I still must learn what orbits to describe. I still must learn to chart the sky.