I drew the short fuse and stepped
out and it is moments like this
where you think of whales gulping
from a hole then diving into dark depths
as I take a breath and screw my helmet

on. I have this sticker of an ichthys to the left
of the visor. I believe more in Martians
than in God but I like the way the arcs start
together then curve then play then meet again
but again are drawn away to an emptiness
that once crossed at that liminal point, just like
this station and my body are in motion

now. Now I am the naked fish:
a mammal fish, a flying, floating,
finless, wingless, breathless orbiter,
waiting and praying for something not
to happen. But needs must when there is
something about a loose connection
or an untightened bolt or a red eye
in want of a daisy. I look out and

see we have cast our net so far, past
the moon, the sun, past our belts of rock, built on
the sand of asteroids and meteorites and shooting
stars, way past that planet that isn’t a planet any

more. I feel the sweat float away in globes,
interstellar spit that is carried on currents of
solar winds from one quadrant to

another. I am a cog, a spindle, a spoke,
a spaceman in a skin-thin suit and a space that is
blind, like justice, like evolution, like time. This

flare is my last recording.
I hope some rocket will carry this
Major’s manmade message home.

link to music and lyric video

Luigi Coppola is a teacher, poet, first generation immigrant and avid rum and coke drinker. Bridport Prize shortlisted, Ledbury and National Poetry Competition longlisted, Poetry Archive Worldview winner’s list, publications include Worple Press’ ‘The Tree Line’, Acumen, Ink, Sweat and Tears, Iota, Magma, Rattle and Rialto (read more at LuigiCoppolaPoetry.blogspot.co.uk).