Are we rare, and therefore lucky?
Do aliens sit, upon a day, like us, in a park,
on a bench, under trees, with sun
to look down over them, and kiss
their eyes as they marvel
at green and flowers around them?
Do people on other planets
look up to the heavens,
standing and immersed all around them,
and sing, “Hodie – Credo!”
knowing full well their god
is not going to come down to their world
and efface all the bad in one stroke,
but instead works more mysteriously?
Do ancient aliens sit on the shore
of oceans lapping lapping on the sand,
finding shells of sea creatures
to make jewelry out of sometime,
or draping lengths of seaweed
over their arms, just for fun?
Do those other people drive in cars?
Have they reached distant worlds
in ships designed for long forays in space?
Do they love their loved ones, too?
Did they grow, evolve, on one small bit of rock?
And, do they destroy each other at times?
Do they have minds of metal, instead of love?
Will they one day go the way of all flesh,
their species wiping itself out
in a haze of violence against itself?
Do they, or are we special somehow?
Are we rare, and therefore lucky?
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