The Experiment

The feathery cobalt grass is gone
And the tangerine-violet swirl of sky.
The platinum lake behind our hexagon home
Stands silent, vacant, alone.

The alien will come tonight.
I will walk into his unanswerable light,
Surrender to the hum of his sleek machine.
He will put his slick grey hands to my forgiven face,
Remove every delicious trace
Of my experiment with you,
Return to me
My identity.

As I wait, I draft this letter
Hoping the other angels won’t mind
If
Long after logic and psychiatrists assure you
I must have been
A buttercream dream,
You will know you were held sacred
By an unknowable creature
Seven thousand light years away, unreachable.

If this changes history
We can arrange small repairs.
Surely I cannot be held accountable
For some impulsive act I committed
When the pageantry of my mind
Was trapped in human form
And drugged with the brain chemicals
Of what you monkeys call love.