Dreamt at night to be—to have been—

one of the ten men to walk the lunar surface:

moonscape upclose with fine bright white dust,

startling in the unfiltered sun, and footprints

that do not fade, permanent and

soft edged, lying on a sea of flat tranquility

on a silent, airless world as the earth rises

blue in the distance. To be—to have been—also

one of the six men (I assume) to touch your surface,

to have run the ridges and depressions from

light to shadow, coated as we mammals are

in fine, white hair.

                       To be—to have been—one of

the six (I assume) men to touch your surface,

the bright white with shock of sunny blonde

but lunar shadows are too sharp

and one looses depth perception, like

I lost when watching your blue eyes open

like a lunar earthrise.

                       To be—to have been—one of

the six (I assume) men to touch your surface,

bright titanium white and smooth but not so

sharp edged. The touches left on you are not

any longer visible but it’s like I can feel them,

like I can taste them, like I can hold you next to me

                       To be—to have been—one of

the six men I assume have touched you, with

your pale titanium white translucence and your

athletic fluidity of gesture and your shock of

blonde hair. To be—to have been—a lunar traveler

within you, to have been one to undertake the

journey I imagine must be magic like nothing I

can fully grasp, like moonscape depth perception

where sharp edged shadows fool perspective, just

like I lost, when watching your blue eyes open as

a lunar earthrise.

--RFRY, 24 Jun 06

This is a version of Lunar Dream.