Issue 155, Summer 2000
Unto thee ... do I lift up my soul ..
I trust in thee: let me not be ashamed.
Here, in the xeroxed panorama on my desk, a man
is crouching slightly in his spacesuit, leaning
forward, hands swung up, as though about to leap.
The sun behind him hangs at the horizon.
His long shadow lies before him, shadow-toe
to toe of lunar overshoe, in several-billion-
year-old regolithic dust. This is the Known
Sea, where at the half-moon one leap from the light
edge carries a man some distance into the dark.
The man, whose face hid under the visor, almost
everybody has forgotten, in this picture, thirty
years ago, is young: he is about to leap for joy.