Neboola

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It would be nice to hurtle through one of those wild,

planetary, blustery, tall, far, wide clouds

which divide this band of the universe from that /

And to just feel it all around you, those primordial elements in their gaseous, billowing form, expanding, but also frozen in place,

describing such massive marauding curl-edged shapes,

Great blustery things out there, purple and crimson in the emptiness/

It would be fine, also to be sent through those pretty bit-filled bands of ice and frozen rock and pieces of rock that are pulled along in great banding laps, lulled by gravity into a long and purposeful arc-

It would be nice to move along these kinds of things Taking weeks or months just to cross one layer into the next /

Washed over with reflected light, on occasion, or even knocked into a careen by some solar breach that burbles off that star’s surface like a ribbon:

Lifting, knotting, making its pretty hair-bow display, all fusionary power and lush balletic magma swirl

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Just, in fact, before pulling back in like a riptide to the gurgling explosion below This little flairey has sent enough with her one simple twist-twirl

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To spin me out, some million, million miles away as I swim the raspberry gaslight periphery,

Neboolizing along in it, wearing it like an ocean:

Cosmotic, precious, serious, exploratory; bliss bliss bliss

Empty dark, rich with death.

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