Classic Poem

Footprints for satellites?
An old game. The Mayas knew it;
land forms camouflaged, star
charts, airy bestiaries, eagle, lama,
beastback mountain sides, white
pebbled Milky Way, an ancestral
footbridge. Look down or up,
backwards or forwards. Weirdly,
rotating our options, weighing odds;
caught in bristling cyberspace
or a stone corbelled chamber.
Either way, it'll make you dizzy.
Once is as it ever was, ever shall be:
Gods walk out upon a path of stars.