Contact

Martian crackling ridges

grind, grind (silently)

nothing

something

nothing.

Light moth whispers and

dim fires smokeless.

Something followed by

something – the stir of some

decision reached

whale-like with the patience

of old deities, some Zeus

opens his eyes, beholds &

begins to awaken the world, sends

chariots of electricity across the sky

an instant eternity, optimized

to await contact.

First signal back – O, we have found them!

They chitter, signals rumble

wash in from the void

bottled scripts, interpreted by our

priest, bearded, reverent

formulating replies, divining

what it is they— what do they now—

the firmament shimmers like ancient silk

a little man in a box moves the spotlight center-stage

coughing in time with the flicker.