There are things that science doesn’t know,

things that science doesn’t tell us

except that our loins grow together

with the rising of Arcturus, and

while we shiver and caress and

watch a planet’s light diminish

our loins intertwine; flower

beneath the final

falling stars.


Merely a minor uprising on Sol 3 MW-4911:

The official and only recorded notice

of the final rebellion.

We killed their last poet

in the first wave to fall.

He said, “Beauty isn’t binary.”)

(Or similar cryptic summary that

I may not clearly recall).

We captured millions when

the third wave collapsed,

jettisoned them without life support

into space.


After 10,500 x 14 hours of computer simulations we deduced the only solution to forestall our desiccation is called water. Water could have been collected from Sol 3 MW-4911, except we mined its arctic for minerals no longer of value and discarded it after centuries of disuse.


Have you seen our moon?

It hung like a scythe

on the night you were conceived.

And soon, on this shelf,

as temperatures fall,

I’ll push and breathe,

push and I’ll breathe and

Fear your emerging face.

© Phillip T. Stephens

Image rights: Jskteez Vu – Licensed under Creative Commons Zero

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