like a brave flag parading in the slipstream
of some desk jockey’s eight start day
the miracles of this season ruffle
like a party dress or the leaves in the trees
that ridge as snug as a favourite collar
and is that the sea of tranquility so far above?
so close they dreamed of it in camelot
and i am as faithful as a pilgrim
the brightest thoughts of those pre-zapruder days
and like nothing so casual as a chip packet
left to dance away from the picnic’s relics
you turn your head with eyes as wide as saucers
the orbs of the ones that make offerings to our stars
and you set off in your fantastic space chariot
while i cocoon in close to the landing gear
ready to dock in whichever port you choose