Night flight to Earth;
I think it’s justified to use the adjective ‘night’.
Here in space, it’s always night.
Night with glittering constellation eyes.
Night with floating rocks.
Night with stars and satellites.
The space shuttle and I are brothers in arms.
We stab the earth’s atmospheric layers.
First, the Thermosphere consumes us.
Then the Mesosphere, and so on.
The shuttle is cupped in the palms of fire.
Phantoms are visible on my space helmet glass.
Phantoms rising from below.
Phantoms of those who have perished from various plagues — People, rivers, trees, mountains, whales, jaguars, leopards, seals, turtles, bears, rhinos.
God, it’s a magical scene — their congregation mid air.
They wheel and wheel like helicopter blades.
As the shuttle and I ready ourselves to be consumed by the ground control station,
They ready themselves to scatter across the spheres
Like supersonic jets. Gone in a blink.
Maybe in space, they’ll coexist peacefully
There will be no toxic air to choke them
No palm oil plantations to drive them away
No oil spills. No plastic. No wars.
Only starry eyes.