Somewhere in space, impossibly it seems,
the stars always sing. They bring to rings of light,
celestial rhythm, a chance to dance, a sort of space romance,
a stellar pas de deux.
In whirling-waltz, they swirl possibly unaware,
of sparks flame-shot in incandescent flares.
A quadrille for dVerse, where De has asked us to use some form of the word possible.