Suspended existence

Seven miles above the Alps
I take my pen
and begin to write

I think about reality
of time and place
as the cabin rolls and fills with light

Could it be a week since
I left Madrid
streaming thoughts into the night?

And filled with childhood awe
as Aldrin spoke to me
of Apollo's flight

Now I scribble on the page
as 'Moondust' and Reinert's dream
populate my head

And ponder where I am
and where I heard Armstrong
now lies among the dead

I try to make this fit
Suspend existence
as I bounce around the sky

And ask 'Is any of this real?'
of the place
where shining angels fly

I take myself
on Aldrin's flight
beyond the whining turbofan

En-route between the Earth
and Moon
in a small rotating can

Then I make myself believe
I flew to meet
a poet in Bergamo

And that today I fly
to a place
I try to call my home

Aldrin tells me NASA
ought to land a poet
upon the surface of the Moon

Well, I'll tell you Buzz
seven miles above the Alps
on a Thursday afternoon

Perhaps they have.