Meteorites
In the familiar texture of this earth
Is buried deep the iron dust of stars,
Threading the common with celestial stuff,
Touching the soil to grandeur. Like the land
Are men who spring from her—aware of storms
And all disaster, intimate with dusk
But hospitable to morning, hushed at last
On the dark breast of earth. And yet in man
A silver element, a quality
More luminous than stars directs his ways
To something braver than the world he knows,
Sealing his ancient kinship with the skies.