imagined cosmology - a poem

do not look upon us, we
who live in poverty of rooms,
rooms of stations of the cross,
we, blessed with lowliness,
loneliness in the blank staring night,
you, the stars,
dead, twinkling still through our dome,
we kindle your sparks offered us
to light camp fires dotting our hills
do you see them reposed in your sky,
yet twinkling through your dome,
do you dread our lights shining,
your silent witnesses slowly
determining your fates?