Mir

You have tumbled alone
through silence,
far above the feathery
swirls of cumulus,
the rich blue of oceans
wrapped away, 
the jags of snowcapped peaks
shrunk to ripples.

You are the flower
in an airless desert,
your electric petals
drinking sunlight,
shivering in gusts
of solar wind.

How does it feel --
your roots disconnected
from all but the hearts
of men who built you,
the tender touch 
of cosmonauts, astronauts,
the imaginations
of six billion below.

What better way to go
than by reaching down 
to touch the sky 
we strive to climb beyond,
to feel the furious air,
to have your petals 
plucked loose, one by one.

Down here, I envy
your streaks of fire
and mourn your ocean splashdown.
I wish your charred remains
had found their rest among us.

Scott Speck
03/22/2001