A thought: That until Buzz steps down onto this ball of rock
Mine are the only footprints on this extraterrestrial beach.

My breath walks with me, side-by-side, yet static, trapped inside.
Until Buzz steps down mine are the only thoughts.

Mine is the only language, loss or gain, psychology, pain:
I have a monopoly of soul. I singularly represent the whole.

So when eventually I return, I can claim to be the man
Who did it first, who raked over the fine particles of the universe.

But back to this ball of rock. Behind my thumb the Earth disappears
As if I flick a switch, removing it from the night, dousing sunlight.

I press it like a pin into the board of darkness, then another, and another.
Until each planet holds the message of the heavens.

Another thought: That even through the fabric of my temperate glove,
I will feel the Braille of humanity ill at ease, drowning in its seven seas.