MOONTYPE*
A thought: That until Buzz steps down onto this ball of rock
Mine are the only footprints on this extraterrestrial beach.
My breath walks with me, side-by-side, yet static, trapped inside.
Until Buzz steps down mine are the only thoughts,
Mine is the only language, loss or gain, psychology, pain;
I have a monopoly of soul. I singularly represent the whole.
So when I eventually return, I can claim to be the man
Who did it first, who raked over the fine particles of the
universe.
But back to this ball of rock. Behind my thumb the Earth
disappears.
As if I flick a switch, removing it from the night, dousing
sunlight.
I press it like a pin into the board of darkness, then another, and
another.
Until each planet holds the message of the heavens.
Another thought: That even through the fabric of my temperate
glove,
I will feel the braille of humanity ill at ease, drowning it its seven
seas.
*system of writing and printing for the blind
Featured in the Forward book of poetry 2001