Bring up your luggage
To a white celestial fiction
Into which a vortex outpours
Red, orange curls,
Recumbent diction and how and why,
In too bright at the edge of the world.
How they sang with delight
When Columbus founded the new
Yet to perceive how froward and crabbed,
Branches of trees like grisly spiders' webs
Hover and hang in the sky.
It is no different than in the middle
Of any vacuous ring
Between Age and Youth, a riddle?
In tribes the old are subjects of beauty:
Everything conquered; it is our duty
And youth is wasted
In weaponless drudge in peace;
And in blood when in war.
Orbit into Heaven but where
Is peace? Where is love? Where now is God?
In the moon, or a star?
Certainly great distance adrift
From where we mix space craft
And lasers without vision.
From here we take our next decision.