6/10

The moon on our terms

Horatio is closer to Camelot

than he is to Shakespeare.

Even Victory is half a klick

closer. The Bronte impact

sits just outside Tortilla Flat,

the wide plain we used

as a cul-de-sac for our pioneering

golf cart. We named the deaf features

like we would goldfish, something clever

and familiar for us to sort one

from the lookalikes. The fine regolith--

moondust--feels like the snow at Aspen,

smells like gunpowder. (Chronologically,

we should say, gunpowder

smells like the moon, but seeing

as how we brought it home as cargo

to our atmosphere and our American

noses, it's debatable, at least.)