I could have gone on and on

"Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic" (Arthur C. Clarke)

His face, for the first time in photographs,
shows a new expression, one unexpected:
eyes tinted bulbs, hands choirboy neat
in his lap, a smile like a mischievist
trying not to laugh in company.
Never before horizontal in public,
he gives a full body demo
of gravity, flight:
stale principles in ink
that burst and bloom in practice,
each drowsy rotation, aided
by the hands of the astronauts,
gloved, as if turning an antique globe.
I wonder if, drifting
like a feather in cream,
he wished briefly for his voicebox
to holler out metallically
joke Armstrong quotes, or perhaps
a variant on Yippee.