For the cosmonauts

by Meirion Jordan

For the cosmonauts

I, Yuri Gagarin, having not seen God,

wake now to the scrollwork of a body,

to my own white fibres leafing into the bone:

know that beyond this dome of rain there is

only the nothing where the soul sweeps

out its parallax like a distant star and truth

brightens to X, to gamma, through a metal sail.


So I return to you, cramming your pockets

with the atmosphere and evening news,

fumbling for gardens in the moon's shadow,

in its waterfalls of silence. I wish for you

familiar towns, their piers and amusement arcades

unpeopled at dusk, the unicorn tumbling by

on china hooves behind the high walls

of parks, among congregating lamps.


May you find Earth rising there, between

your steepled hands. May your voyages

end. May you have a cold unfurling

of limbs each morning, when I am fallen

out of the world.

© Meirion Jordan