am the speeding
spark of light
flung by God
from the forge of Chaos.
I soar on wings
swifter than wind
above the paths
of the pulsing stars.

Faster! faster!
to find the place
where cosmic waves
crash ashore:
to cast anchor
off that empty coast,
that far frontier
and final reach
of created things: --
the edge of heaven.

I watched the stars
in the womb of youth
rise from the still
streams of heaven,
eager to make
their million year
race through the thin
ethereal blue.

Later they flickered
faintly behind me
as I rushed on
to the rim of worlds.
I peered with anxious
eyes about me:
now I was steering
through starless voids.

Faster! faster!
to find the place
where Nothingness reigns
and inane Chaos,
wending my way
on wings of light,
steering toward port
with steady courage.

As I dart on
through dim greyness,
I encounter clouds
of cosmic dust.
Behind me I hear,
hushed in distance,
dark cataracts
of dying suns.

Suddenly, something
comes swiftly toward me
through empty night --
an image that speaks:
'Stay, oh traveller
tired with flight!
Tell me, wanderer --
what are you seeking?'

'My way leads on
to the worlds you come from!
My flight is destined
to those distant shores,
that far frontier
and final reach
of created things: --
the edge of heaven.'

'Cease your search,
sojourner! end
your futile wandering
through wastes of ether!
Know that ahead of you
lie nothing
but infinite tracts
of endlessness.'

'Cease your search,
sojourner! end
your futile wandering
through wastes of ether!
Behind me, too,
lie torrents of stars
and infinite, empty
endlessness.'

Oh eagle-mounting
imagination!
Cease your soaring,
descend to earth!
Oh swift voyager,
venturesome poet:
tired of creating,
cast your anchor here!