one day I might well
catch Venus in my windshield
and floor it across
five counties in pursuit,
until near sunset when
the planet would hover
over the roof of my humble car
beaming the music of its alien sphere
into my marrow.
I'd wake none the wiser next morning
in bed, one or two red bites
on my chest and my eyes pink
and weeping as if again,
by some anomaly,
I had allowed some lover to mark me
and leave in her small gold car.
Then one night,
the skeptics say,
I might dream a face
of large eyes, the uncertain caresses
and the sounds of someone, maybe me,
begging for a resolution
and getting none.
Soon after this dream of abduction,
the skeptics acknowledge,
men in severe suits will knock
and probe the reality that was once
just a light in the sky,
and warn me, just as skeptics do,
never to share the events of that night.
They'll warn me as if
I was dim enough to tell them
the full story in the first place.