Treasures of Space Travel

Brave astronaut,
commander of space
in your New York capsule
ravaged
by your dysentery of love

between the sift and toss of different kinds of news
a bell from the watchtowers,
a thank you for
going crazy,
for your hours of controlled desperation:

an ad plays on the television really late at night,
it shows people swimming in place,
paddling out to an eternal tide,
endless pools in small boxes
offering the promise of
being somewhere else,

anyastronaut,
anycommander,

I dearly hope you find your Costa Rica,
Anyisland,
put it in your pocket,
grab the blue sky with your space gloves
and wear it proudly
like wiry leaf people kissing the air,
planting your mark.