smaller journeys still

if i may be privileged to be indirect again:

for every story told, a fool will sand it gold
infinite may be learned, but its direction untold
carry it out for the sake of surety, and,
details lost embossed in a distance wake

pace of the wind known to some
grace of the sinned may yet again fall from heaven
where we are looking, yes it’s there that we are
is it understood when the clang for supper rings

call all to see that which we’re so happy to be
what is it that connects two stars
is it us? after all?
should we be so fortunate to see the constellations from the other side?