Weightless

The ancients believed the sun and moon
were lovers, yet they never touch, each
confined to its separate house, one in fire,
one in coldest light. Their trajectories
never cross but keep their distance.

Look up, or down (it’s all the same)
and view the blue pearl of Earth,
the sun a hot white dinner plate
we dare not face, the stars clear,
sharp as torches poked through the black.

Remember when on our backs, we saw
our futures in the constellations?
I was Orion come safely home, you
were Libra, balancing the scales
of the possible against the impossible.

We should have been astronauts,
sealed in our suits,
each alone to fog
our separate faceplates
with our toxic exhalations.

Return to the ship if you must.
I’m setting out for the nearest star.
They say an ocean of oxygen
lies somewhere
between here and there.

       First appeared in Asheville Poetry Review