I have been called Finger of God,
the Western and Eastern Veil,
Flamentary Nebula in the constellation of The Swan;
one of the largest and brightest there is.
You might say I take a free hand,
but being a shower of hands,
I paint space in angelic streams,
holding my firework wings across vast distances.
A crimson down of light
stipples my underside,
electric blue flashes feather lengthwise
my supernova proportions.
They say this shell of mine
is notoriously difficult to see,
but with the right filter I’ve been admired
without Herschel’s invention.
I am a wonder of swirling skirts:
I have more hooves than a herd of horses,
more streamlined a head than a jaguar,
I run behind naked-eye star 52 Cygnus.