Busy Skies
“All the prophets, from Jesus to Mohammed, were space aliens, and
these superior beings are ready to return.”
--Raelian Church,
quoted in Skeptic Magazine
It's not the second coming we're waiting for.
It came and went with the first
australopithic step, when They saw and approved
our ambitions to grasp more
than those limbs we swung from. Our thumbs
aching to bend, the needs of our newest evolution
pressing, they came again, diagramming our course
in the geometry of wheat fields. In time we learned
speech, and through voiced and breathless pauses,
these untamed vernaculars, we re-invented them
in fables of flight and flood, mastered their missions--
Mecca, Jerusalem, Roswell--always pieced
from just enough evidence. We see their faces
in moon-rocks, traces of them in sky and soil,
always searching for them in ourselves. Now, our gaze
fixed forever on their busy skies like sunflowers
aching to the star that feeds them,
we wonder where next they will lead us--
these rough beasts slouching skies toward earth to be reborn.