A poem by Ron Drummond
Lunar Sacrament
Buzz Aldrin took
the sacrament on the moon,
cup, wine, wafer, prayer:
cross made out of nothing
but bottled air
stirred into brief
cruciform presence
by an articulate hand,
human reverence
hovering in a bubble
above an ancient bone-dry sea
that knew more change
in a few life-pulsing hours
than in the thousand thousand
millennia that came before.
Neil Armstrong bore witness,
spoke not a word,
told no one what,
in that timeless, momentary
ceremony before their
long short walk,
he'd seen and heard,
a flickering cross of life,
or nothing,
on a briefly
untranquil sea.
Copyright © 2009 by Ron Drummond
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