Day One

An aircraft flies beneath
The large but waning early morning moon,
Not quite the’ ET cliché’ but an image
In frosty springtime London, free from sandstorms.
Distant desert skies mirror this sight,
The same shaped moon, her ancient craters
Pock-marking another desert, another dawn
Another world, again.

Could this sphere but reflect to us the eyes
In those far sandy faces lifted up
To search the skies for threat or hope,
Or weather forecast for their flight,
She would forge links of empathy
Between praying human beings this dawning day.