Howard Firkin
The psych test shows I’m one of those they call
divergent thinkers. My movements here, in space
are beautiful; I’m Pina Bausch; I’m all
and nothing; solid fluid; human race.
And that’s my craft: not floating, just not falling.
I’m not surrounded, I’m somehow immersed,
reflections on my visor I can’t see;
I’m dancing for the last time and the first,
I’m solid, fluid, spastic, balanced: free.
The stars are bird song and the stars are calling.

I don’t do checklists: tick. I guess that makes
my choice of occupation very odd:
a spaceman prone to first and last mistakes—
no lifelines and no anchors here, thank God.