As long as nothing can be known for sure(no signals have been picked up yet),as long as Earth is still unlikethe nearer and more distant planets,as long as there’s neither hide nor hairof other grasses graced by other winds,of other treetops bearing other crowns,other animals as well-grounded as our own,as long as only the local echohas been known to speak in syllables,as long as we still haven’t heard the wordof better or worse mozarts,platos, edisons, elsewhere,as long as our inhuman crimesare still committed only between humans,as long as our kindnessis still incomparable,peerless even in its imperfection,as long as our heads packed with illusionsstill pass for the only heads so packed,as long as the roofs of our mouths alonestill raise voices to high heavens –let’s act like very special guests of honourat the district firemen’s ball,dance to the beat of the local oompah bandand pretend that it’s the ballto end all balls.
I can’t speak for other –
for me this is misery and happiness enough:
just this sleepy backwater
where even the stars have time to burn
while winking at us