You know the towns by neon. The camps and plants
By white light only. All the rest is lost.
Except, down there, the moon in the Mississippi,
And the shadowy cloud we crossed.
And then, far off, the white line of the beacons
Snapping nimble fingers on the night.
And at the last reach of the darkened land
The red wink of the code-the on-course light.
And then The Gulf. Now time and place are stars
And only stars may hear which way we wish.
Therefore, because there is no world below,
Let world be Vega, Spica, Regulus.
A myth and calculus-Shaula, Alioth, Caph,
Antares, Deneb Kaitos, Fomalhaut
Dark Arab, bearded Greek, Nile ritual:
They sit the shelf of wing that bears us out.
Over the endless lava of the moon,
Tracking the maddened motors of our flight,
Sprung from the dimmest history and no world:
Like Father Ape or Adam—a first night.
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