A Poem by Mantz Yorke

Black Hole

 

That was the moment of crushing,

 

lying sleepless in the cold

hour before dawn, afraid to ask

and yet not ask: you, curled

from my questioning touch,

silent. 

 

Light bursting inward,

fading.

 

That was the beginning of it.

 

Now the shrivelling

winds rip

the last leaves from the trees, and frosts blacken

the dahlias in our garden: I see

the world engraved

with cold, and still

no snow to soften the ice-keen

talons of the merciless hawk.

 

And what of you, Orion,

stretched out across this wintry sky?

Is not your virility

a mere illusion?

Has not the sword

stabbed

deep in your gut?

 

Like you, I am silent.

 

Somewhere in your frame,

the astronomers tell us,

atoms are falling

inwards,

inwards,

beyond the reach of comprehension,

their radiance hovering,

quivering,

imprisoned by implosion.

 

This dark space is all that binds us.

I await new constellations:

will you, Leo,

Virgo,

Serpens,

in slow procession,

help me bear the pall

of Orion's springtime burial?

 

I circle this horizon, accelerating

inward, yet centrifugal:

a temporary equilibrium, this balance

point of crisis, this moment

when the wavering will

must make its choice -

existence

or extinction.

 

 

 

Mantz Yorke is a former teacher living in Manchester, England.  His work has appeared in the series 'Best of Manchester Poets' and in various publications, including the anthology 'Of Sun and Sand'.