We pull our hoods down tight to cross the Mall Through swift sidereal snow, unseasonal Flurries that gather on cold metal And disappear everywhere else they fall.
Inside the museum’s aquarium glass The fluorescent warmth is forested with unspent Missiles, preserved from war, spacecraft unsent, Nike, V2, Atlas-Centaur, Polaris.
These lofty relics of dreams long outlasted Are merely arc and force of what may have been, Sometimes was, those forgone flights that could mean Disaster or success, vessels blasted
Into space or just to pieces. We flow With crowds round gold-foil lunar landers, While our child, distracted, wanders, Gripping the rail, watching the swirls of snow.