should
i write of the moon
as poet would write
mysterious emotion
welling from history
or the clearly visioned
scientist with photos
where each speck of dust
sits in a place of category

to see from the far side
the earth as the moon
its wet pools of microscopic
people scurrying about
from my burnt and sterile
vantage point of cold purity

changes the meaning of one
who might write anything
when so much more belongs
to where we begin today