We look into the cold expanse of space,
A thousand light years could not drive us hence.
By Mercury, by Jupiter to whence
The stars themselves hide out, our dreams now race,
And topsy-turvy is this very place,
Beyond the fusing, burning sun intense,
And past the fires imagination vents
Down ancient edges drear of darkest space.
But can we find an answer in these fires,
Or on the lunar ridges of our time,
When we become as alien as stars,
Emotionless, though burning past desires,
And searching out of reason out of rhyme,
For some safe haven on the Steppes of Mars.
Jay Cohen