i.

I am not so brave as Elliot, could never lay out

a candy path for hungry, lost forms to follow

through the dark backyard to my bedroom door. 
ii.

I’m in awe of this pale, awkward boy peddling

hard in little red hoodie, riding his bicycle across

the blue moon through crisp pine-needle night,

with the brown heart-shaped head of his small

alien friend blanket-cloaked in the basket up front,

pursued by sirens and uniforms, buoyed by love.
iii.

Often, you are alien to me. When our fingers touch

there’s spark. You lift me over landscapes but I’m

afraid you’ll let me fall. I have allowed the wrong

ones to carry me before. Let’s just lie here on our

backs now, pedal each other’s feet above the floor.
iv.

Together we must escape the Earthmen who land

stern as politicians in the driveway to set up

quarantine in space suits — an adult intervention

so sterile and inhuman, it turns us both white. 
v.

You’re killing him! Elliot shouts as E.T.’s heart

slows and stops in his small chalky chest.

The flowers droop and the body bag is zipped

and it’s cold as frost but the corpse glows red.
vi.

If you are sick and I can’t cure you, then we are both

sick. If you need family near you, I want them close

too. If sadness drifts in to settle ashen across your

face, then I must brave the boats, seek the mothership.
vii.

There will be times you will feel extraordinarily

lonely on this blue planet if you stay, my alien friend.

You’ll see the broken father of a washed-up child

and understand that nature failed with human hearts.