But it can't be helped.

 Tonight it is so clear,

 so huge, so magnified

 it takes up half the sky.

 We can see every crater,

 every mare, every mons.

 We can pick a landing site from here

 We can almost walk there,

 without the benefit

 of rocket propulsion.

 Or it can come a little closer

 and scoop us up

 like a shiny ladle.

 We will land in a cloud

 of slow gray dust

 and trampoline in slo-mo

 in our bulky white moonsuits

 or nothing at all,

 (this is a fantasy, you know)

 playing golf,

 driving a ball like a star

 over the short horizon

 planting stiff little flags

 that seem to snap in imaginary wind

 and come from no particular country.

 Then we'll turn around

 and admire the big bright earthrise

 so clear we can see

 every mountain, every sea,

 every lake and city

 almost as if we were there.

 And that

 is when I will slip

 your hand into mine.

05/22/2007

Author's Note: [First published in Sunken Lines, Winter 2005.]

Posted on 05/23/2007
Copyright © 2024 Bruce W Niedt