Moonrakers

The earth looks still off the moon's edge

Just a half-bubble

Busy with its terrible soapy churning

The night unstoppable between us

You must be wondering who rakes the moon

Who makes the moon

The seemingly arbitrary arrangement of craters and valleys

Unspeakable valleys, dusty hallways between cliffs

Perfectly curved basins, the puckered edges catching the light

During a monthly sunrise

Dark, unmoving seas of shadow

We are the moonrakers, the diggers

Careful with our light feet, our fine tools and shovels maria-powdered

And this is what we know:

An asteroid deserves its crater,

Our years of work the work of mirrors

A good work, fair

But who are you, landing so gently,

coming with your fat prints

The harsh parallel lines of the sole

You, with your round glass helmets

with which you reflect so much more gracefully

Everything you know