Partly, incrementally obscured, occulted, yet
A thin slice reveals itself, then vanishes
Everything is compromised
Like an airplane, flying

The engineers that are human
Tack on thing after thing after thing
Until we struggle into the air
Trembling, unsure, ecstatic, pensive

Then certain physics influence the imperfect
Rotation, helpless to maintain something
And a blameless libration wobbles into being
Novel, surprising and full of delight for those

Who peer at hidden features from a moonlit sidewalk
A portent, in phases revealed by calculation
Of a body that is not an accurate sphere
But even if it were, our physics would have it tilt

©2017 eolon