In early life we swam
in the time
before man had left
the planet,
a dream time then, the savannah before us,
our imagination rippling
with the hunt of self
pulling away from the sphere
without concrete proof
we could - or if we did
what we would see: It
is hard then, now,
to settle on an
everyman’s couch and explain
the difference between
that then
and this improbable
now where everything appears the same
except in the gathered
percolator of our psyche
where drips an
insistent truth - we did leave,
did step on the moon’s
dusty crust,
planted that flag so
many of us detest,
yet ponder sometimes
the truth - it is there still,
a monument unseen,
poignant as it waits, frozen,
for a return to the
dreaming of the great beyond.
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