Sea of Silence, Lunar Walker

Alone he treads the dust where echoes die, A glassy helm holds oceans in its night. Far overhead, a blue world drifts on high, A lantern hung in silence, cold and bright. His gloved hand steadies dreams in weightless air, While bootprints stitch a path across the gray. The stars keep watch, indifferent, sharp, and spare, And time itself seems held, then slips away.