Glass Tombs of Moss Bears on the Moon

They shot them up there to test
How long they’d last, then lost them.

It’s a thought. To be like that—
A life, a beast, one that can

Dry out and freeze, turn to glass
And not budge a bit. Just wait

For the next chance to get wet,
Go soft, start to move and eat.

Glass can’t last to ends of time,
Of course, but a moss bear crashed

On the moon comes near as close
To charmed Snow White as life gets.

You could train. Not far. You know—
Like you train to hold your breath.

You can’t be a seal, much less
A whale, but you can dive down

In the green glass of a lake
And float for a while. Just so,

Train to be still as you can.
Slow down to where you don’t speak,

Don’t read, and don’t check the time.
Don’t try to be sage, a monk,

A nun, a wise one. Be fool.
Be such a fool, you’re no use—

Count Lev would put you to work.
No one will think it’s a good

Use of your life, but we do.
You may get to see the world.

At worst, you’ll gain some small sense
Of how great that gift would be.