Empyrean Empires of Night

Think how all the pounding, all
The smashing serves to make things

Roughly round—the moon, the earth,
The days, elliptical years—

How everything tends toward
But not quite circles and spheres,

Including your arguments
On truth, your revolutions,

Hence the term. Enough to make
Your heads spin. You tilt, sometimes,

Enough to destabilize
Your concentric rings of each

Other, looking up, and you
Feel the pounding in your skulls.