Here’s one of my Space poems from the 1970s that isn’t really about Space. This one has never been published in a magazine, journal, or book. Today is a good day to bring it out, 50 years after the first walk on the moon.
Mile sticks add up on the highway.
Out here we whistle through the void,
Clocked and tracked by stations
That take us in their range and then
Give us over to the next link.
I’m over Micronesia—
It’s like the archipelago of hope
Strung out from my gut through
Every hemisphere and time zone.
I want to taste you like the first time.
Last night, I dreamt I was in our kitchen,
Picturing myself at daybreak, bearded,
Legs cramped, anticipating splashdown,
When my capsule, scorched from re-entry,
Would touch back in the rocking blue sea.