Nebula’s Stone

Each ring of Dante’s cross descend

I find myself lying there,

Each shade’s face

worse than one before,

‘Tis me, I know

 ‘Tis my despair,

My face is all of these and more

And each day different

and no return,

To the end

before time began,

Before stone stared deeply into pond,

Where water’s quivering bow

held still,

While water’s rippling fingers

held on,

To nebula’s stone

then, fell upon

the placid face

of eternity,

For I’ve touched

every circle there,

Concentric circles

whirling free.

                    s.k. lindeman