The Ken Mattingly Poem
As the sherbet-cool moon burns craters in his dreams
Rising and falling with lunar snowdust
Marinating in the light of a looming Earth.
to 4:00 in the afternoon stillness
Listening for thunder from a far-off rocket
The lid, sealing him into a
world without sky.
On his couch draped in Sunday shadow
Pulseless black moon and universe lost
With the pain of knowing
beyond his ahead.
With only a distant dream of space
and lunar eclipse irises
set against a negative of the cosmos:
His undeveloped pictures of wonder.