SPACE CONTROL

Falling in darkness
treading on nothing,
detached; a speck in the Universe.
Suit-skin as white as fear.
On a mission: space exploration—
so 'grand', and yet, through practice,
normal—what all the instruction was for.
Blood pulsing a beat in stifled ears.
Not entirely intentioned moves:
like a foetus in a cosmic womb;
flexing, drifting, weightless.
What next? Record the experience;
be aware how much oxygen's available.
Report back to base: space admin.
Procedures to adhere to—even here.
Collecting info for anecdotes and jokes:
'You'll never guess what happened on
the way back to the craft'—as if
laughter could lighten the gravity
of falling into darkness,
treading on nothing.