Lick wondered what the new universe would be like. Elders had assured explorers that it would sustain life. Lick wondered if it could.

There was a concussion which buffeted Lick’s form; and the craft disintegrated around him.

He landed naked in a tangle of what he assumed was the plant life which had been incorporated into his exploration briefing. Some huge and hairy bipedal form was brandishing two rocks.

He was suddenly very frightened and terribly hungry. He began to consume the dried grass and twigs.

“And what would you like to be when you grow up, Ripley?”

“I want to be a dragon.”

It was more nonsense, and he didn’t appreciate giving career advice to 7-year-olds.

“Why don’t you pick something more practical, honey?”

“You mean like a dinosaur? I was thinking about it, but Mrs. Johnson said dinosaurs were extinct.”

Its strength bore them two children in turn.

A prophet, intuitive and quick.

A defender, strong and kind.

Content together, all offered their talents so the world could partake of their bliss.

Beauty blessed creation, allowing all to enjoy its earthly splendor.

The prophet gave insight to decipher and atone for man’s errors.

The defender offered courage and strength to the masses.

Death bestowed his touch to all, releasing them from life’s toil.

Under their hand, humanity found constants, forever extant as long as man lived.

“We have discovered a species with left handed DNA. This means life on Earth started not just once, but two or more times.”

The delegates’ jaws dropped; mouths like pitcher plants waiting for further details to fall in.

“This organism has been in front of our noses all the time. The common toenail fungus.”

Tiny, frozen fingers assail the windshield while Erin shivers in the passenger seat. I ease the gas pedal cautiously, hesitantly–-coaxing a reluctant lover.

Tires slip and I wonder if it would be so bad, sliding to our end in ice and pavement. Why not, with the cold body of our almost baby left at the hospital?

“Has it occurred to you doctor, that I ought to be depressed, because I’m living a meaningless life?”

“Yes, but I wasn’t going to say it.” Then he saw I wasn’t joking.

“The truth is, I feel just about right for my situation,” I said.

“I don’t tell people how they ought to feel. If they come here, it’s because they think there’s something wrong.”

I didn’t reply.

“So you want me to increase your dosage then?”

The lifetimes had started to pile up, some tragic, some painful, all of them heart-wrenching in one way or another, but never were they uneventful. There were times when she wanted a new life but usually she became attached and knowing she had to let go was the worst part.

This is the life of the poet. A life of watching. You might call me a mirror, or a tape recorder. I am an instrument.

Based on the theory telescopes will see pollution in the atmosphere of planets which have, or had, industrial life as we might know it, MOAL is analysing photographic images of planetary atmospheres.

Initially we agreed upon three levels of pollution, Minimal, Moderate, High, which are yet to be calibrated into sub-levels.

“We’ve found the very first planet with measurable readings and in the High zone,” calls the Manager to me excitedly. “We need you to verify.”

“Wow! Fantastic! How many light years away?”