When the future was real
when warm ocean breezes blew
around the Cape in late afternoon
giant spaceships trundled through the sand
to find harbor in the rust-red arms of home.
When and how were questions for the scientists
why was the assignment for the writers.
Bottled energies in liquid oxygen
in machined chambers of the heart
in black Indian ink
in the sharp point of the rocket’s nosecone
in the pen as it bites paper
and watches it as it bleeds out.
Remedy for melancholy?
How about festivals for vacuums above
and Hells below, bony fingers jammed
in tight cookie jars never able to pry a prize
no matter how loudly the German cries.
I washed out the fishbowls
polished them in Windex
and placed them on astronaut’s heads
I woke the Wonderland fallen silent
and promised them more glory than any man
had had since the Lord Jesus, supping with his
dozen Argonauts in realms of spirit,
saw the Truth.
Before this firecracker is lit,
I have given them the highway map
and I pray and pray and pray
as immortality descends again for the first time
in 2000 years:
“Lord give them the whole of Creation.
The turbines of imagination turning,
Lord give them archangel’s wings
here, when the future becomes now!