the little shuttle
astronauts in seats
flying in the blue of space
without their rockets or ship
it's dawning on them
they watch the sun rise and set
it smells like lemon and ozone
it smells like bright radiation
warm on their cheeks and in their hair
kalpana's hair is floating, as usual
the earth flows beneath
they undo their belts
everything glows and blows
their voices are trebly
it's a bright foil morning
dry and sprinkly in space
"I think I see my ride."
Down below the contrails
White ships rising to meet them
The nacreous ships of angels
With their distinctive insignia