Signs of infinity

"We had the sky up there, all speckled with stars, and we used to lay on our backs and look up at them, and discuss about whether they was made or only just happened."

Mark Twain

I know the equations that make the stars bright. I know what makes them burn, the nuclear marriages that warm their boiling hydrogen heart. I know also their distance, even if I do not succeed to imagine it, eternity of void.

But when I watch to them I do not see this. The stars are holes in the sky that leak out the light of the infinite.
Those stars that Dante has placed to seal its work: "It was from there that we emerged, to see-once more-the stars".
Those stars that Francis of Assisi has indicated as the most beautiful works of the Lord: “The spangled sky, and Clare”
Those stars that are the farthest point we can watch, just nearer than God itself.

If everything we do has not a connection with stars, from kissing someone to write on a blog, we will always crawl on low and foggy land, the lungs of our being with the breath of a flea.
The stars are questions screwed over our head to make us look up.