Cone Nebula

Look down in silent distance

Under their cold light
he wanted you
thinking of the ash
and the alder
and the twining of divine sparks

The play of an idiot's flute
dies out, a stone's throw
from his mouth
Were you to cry out
and flare in death
he would fail to understand
what had happened
A brightness incomprehensible
might mist over all points
and he would play on
imposing his limited view and dreams
on that which
could it but reach down
would snuff him
in a startled instant

And yet
there is a lure
compelling, awful
in the curve of a thigh
a shoulder's arc
pieced with a loom
whose threads are invisible
out of an abyss so deep
that to fall
a frozen mote of dust
into its embrace
would be truly laughable
if laughter had any meaning there

But still
he wanted you
wanted you to be within
the next flesh that he touched
so that each coupling
would be a union
of more than points only
He wanted you
to be the one to fall
tilting suddenly
on infinity's axis
descending
in a strange rush
to be more than pale fire
on the world's edge
to cease tempting, teasing
the mind
and come to his body
his body, his whimpering mind
his body

Copyright © 2007, Malcolm Deeley

Image Credit: NASA/JPL-Caltech/P.S. Teixeira
(Center for Astrophysics)

Malcolm Deeley is the author of eight books of poetry, paintings, and photography. He has been an activist in the arts for over thirty years, assisting in the creation of many forums for poets and artists. He may be contacted through his website, www.gromagonpress.com.