The Landing
one foot then another
emerges from the capsule
the bloated figure
floats onto the barren crater
each small step creates a new footprint
on the dry beach
he beholds the earth
the fragile ornament
hanging by a fishing line
from the tree of naught
the radio waves crash and crackle
behind the mask
the electric filaments leap
and flash back to Houston
where the men in black-framed glasses
shout for joy.
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