I watch for a house in a moon crater.
Smoke nudges the rim. A light hangs
across three chimneys, and an astronaut
sits down on the roof, and she waves.
It might be the ghost of one of my aunts.
She might be looking for a hinge that bounced
from a rocket. She might be stretching a flag
across the roof, and she’s trying to pray for oxygen.
Anyway, she is resting on the roof of a house
in this crater. Starlight peels moon dust. Maybe
I can wave beside a water cooler, and my aunt
will see how the earth is water, and I am lightning.