Moon Landing

1 November 2012

The solar wind that sweeps
across the moon
blows no dust
and makes no noise.
Meteorites land
more quietly there
than feathers fall here.

Our gift to the moon was
all that noise inside the Eagle,
the click of switches,
the dragging of pencils,
the sliding of zippers,
boot-scrape and impatient sighs.

As the Michelin moon-men
left their lunar campervan
and stepped down backwards
onto the iceblock silence
of the frigid grey dust
there was no clang on the ladder,
no whoosh of stepping into powder.
They broke aeons of sound drought
with resonant words,
the low pitch of dry swallow,
the iambic thump of heartbeat.

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