He, came down to earth and now
another He may be imminent.
We may reach Him sooner it seems,
as Saturn’s Enceladus moons
at us suggesting itself.
Living, they posit, is infectious.
Maybe Proxima Centauri,
Maybe space dust,
maybe He is really out there
in a way even atheists understand.
Give them carbon, hydrogen, oxygen,
something of a promised land.
Scientifically proven, could there be
a heaven, where our atoms go
spreading amongst galaxies?
Caution, sound the klaxon,
maybe He is really Him.
He who has a black hole wobbling
and spreads infection.
Casting his seeds,
spreading his cause
on a cosmic scale.
His amino acid in the tails of comets.
E.T. is imminent they say.
Not too far to stretch the imagination
through carbon, hydrogen and oxygen,
or maybe, just maybe, I say,
stretch Saturn into Satan.
© Neil William Holland
Neil Holland is a U.K. poet whose poetry has featured on internet radio stations, the Cube Digital Gallery in Leicester, Colourscape in London, and Rotherham, England.