The little waves, with their soft, white hands, Efface the footprints in the sands, And the tide rises, the tide falls. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
A boot left densely-packed impressions
when a mortal walked the moon.
Dust was altered in that moment.
A footprint etched deep in our minds.
When a mortal walked the moon,
the toe was clear but not the heel.
Dust was changed in one small step,
as our tide rose, and our tide fell.
The toe was clear, but not the heel,
perhaps the astronaut leaned forward.
And our tide rises, our tide falls
as moon maintains its cycle of life.
Perhaps the astronaut tipped forward
unaware that dust can build.
The moon continues its own rhythms,
yet man is sure the mark remains.
Unaware that dust can build
through nights so frigid, days so long.
Man is sure the mark remains,
though meteors efface at will.
Through nights so frigid, days so long, moon discerns what man assumes. Meteors erase at will, and dust is altered, tides still fall. *First published by Tiferet Journal, http://www.tiferetjournal.com