Until there are rocket stations
in our major metropolises
and space spas with moon walks
to the Sea of Tranquility where
we can weightless wash our cares away,
we must make do.
Some choose sky,
strap on silk wings and glide,
expanses of serenity and updraft-seeking
in an intricate courtship with friction
that leaves their souls windswept
in a good way.
Others choose water,
shed clothes and float
blind deaf mute
in womb-like, tomb-like isolation chambers
where bodymindspirit merge
into miracles of enlightenment
I choose earth,
smooth out a blanket and lie
grounded yet adrift in pacific blue,
metamorphosing as the world
spins to a stop, and a grin
splits the skin of my sobriety.
Peace to your ♥!