but Leonardo was first to the moon,
ravelling through space
in a skull-white shuttle
launched from an olive grove,
impossible, his beard flying
as he solved, computed, wondered,
eyes fixed always upwards
on the perplexing wax ball.
up and on he rocketed into an inky sky
starred with questions, light speed voyager,
until, centuries young, he set his feet
on the moon’s frown
and unpicked an ancient puzzle:
how the old-moon’s death mask,
could live on, zombie,
above the new-moon’s rib.
no other astronaut has lived
the lunar night as he has,
in ghostlit seas trembling silver,
still the only human
to step into moon’s gloaming
and see our lantern Earth,
a light leaping out
into the universe’s unending dark.