Aspirin Over The Moon

How is it,
That on such a still evening,
With the slightest ruffle of warm breeze in the air,
With the softest frond of light radiating from the glow of distant planets,
And the fullest of bold yellow moons holding command over our horizon,
Against the deepest and darkest backdrop of true midnight sky,

How is it up here,
As we propose to drift silently through infinity in our hot air balloon,
Floating so effortlessly on unplotted course,
Where the complexity and majesty and absolute intricacy of the universe
Is unveiled and starts to reveal itself to our very conscience,
And the total extravagance of bearing witness to such a phenomenal privilege
Is brought a little closer into context,
Like a canvas taking form to the strokes of Van Gogh’s perfect mind,
That to try and even begin to fathom would bring lament to the most projected thought,
And cause the hairs on the surface of the back of one’s neck
To stand in unanswerable awe,

How is it up here,
In this theatre of timeless tranquillity,
In this orbit of wondrous reflection,
This picture of purest fertility,
In this presence of greatness,
In the absence of space,
Not ringed in by substance,
In this life altering spectacle,
This transcending, this blending, this melding of the worlds,
This expansion of the very meaning of the word beauty,
How is it up here,
That someone could ask for an aspirin?