Re-Entry
Sept 7 2008


We barely graze the edge of space,
just skirting the thin sliver of air
that hugs the earth
— like a polished rock
skipping along its smooth surface.

So we blast-off
atop rockets spewing fire,
— strapped-in, deafened, shuddering —
and dare to imagine
we can actually break free.
But even men like these,
in their white pneumatic suits
shiny visors
packing air,
are still attached to earth.
The home planet,
this tiny speck, glowing blue and green,
against the void’s vast blackness.

And then,
bones gone soft
muscles wasted,
they have no choice but to re-enter.
Out of breath,
dizzy from the effects
of gravity,
and utterly defenceless
against the great machinations of weather,
even spacemen come back to reality.

The best we can manage is a short time-out,
in a partial vacuum
above the fray
gazing down like untouchable gods,
everything we need
taken along with us.

Re-entry is hard
after being away so long.
But over-stay
and you will become permanent,
a tiny white satellite
circling the earth
— the brightest star,
the most brilliant reflection.