After we walked on the Moon
The dust of my steps chokes.
Anticipation of historicity leaps,
each particle settling slower
than rain in a desert, gathering.
They celebrate life with a spin, a dive,
a hero’s end in silence, an intake
of breath lost — in the medium
of emptiness. And they never saw
it coming. This loss, in time, hand-in-
hand with the end of innovation.