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The Space Shuttle Show

She's in the newsroom, he's in cosmic dust.
Deflecting digital white
he takes her mind on a spacewalk.

In a flash, converging lenses shimmer,
she I-spies the space-time continuum
and falls in love long-distance.

Feather-felt her heart flutters
over shaded bafflements, infinity,
where the level of a mirror
holds him in the telecamera.

Then as it may happen
a telltale point-blank concentration,
an enter-orbit proposition.

As he looses earth connections
in a husk, a nonbeing rocket,
he is mere kernel stuff.

She becomes self-conscious
looking at the full moon
of the rolled-into-one universe.

This lull softens the audience,
the unhinging of network immortality
has just begun
and the mind-boggle of enormous moments
spread across the tv.

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