Small and Fragile Skin

Can’t touch the stars, or the emptiness all around.
Can’t touch the methane tears, or hear their dark sound.
Rocky and empty moon, cold and distant from the sun.
A hole in the suit, a crack in the visor, I am all undone.
 I look at the engulfing stars in the night above me,
I look at Jupiter and bright and angry, a hateful destiny.
And I wish I was not frail and weak flesh, always swaddled.
I wish I was an angel or a god, never to be denied or coddled.
 To soar into this endless night, touch every star, feel their fire.
To walk anywhere in this momentary wonder, that is my desire.
To fly through space on gilded and silver wings, without a care.
To have all of eternity to find wonders, and with her them share.
 But I am small and fragile skin, and I must hide myself from this place.
I must keep good air and the invisible ray’s apart from my heart and face.
I do my job out here in the distant darkness, and looming cold and death.
I turn my eyes back to the ground, as my visor grows fogged with my ragged breath.
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