Perigee

You came down to earth:

The three of you,

50 rocks, 1000 photos, give or take

Bobbed around

and that was that.

Re-entry nominal, by the book, no mistakes.

Took off your space suit,

shook hands with Nixon,

drove back East to teach.

Then,

10,000 lectures later

died.

Your wife, tidying up,

behind your ordinary pants and ordinary shirts

in the back of the cupboard found:

moon gloves.

White turned charcoal by the Sea of Tranquility.

Did you ever take them out?

Pull them on to the same old hands that flew the Eagle down

Remember the day their thumb covered the marble earth

Explain away the dust on your dressing gown

And when you waited for sleep

Lecturing done

Gloves in their secret place

Did you smile when the moonlight touched your face?