First Seeds

on a distant planet

Photo by Joshua Lanzarini on Unsplash

Not canals but dry-water runs
in the meagre glow
of a faraway sun, and we
are the first,

our choice not to return
but to build a world
where ice winds blow
and sandstorms scrub the faces
of our domes. Inside

we’re warm, no harm to us.
We’re starting anew, our first
tottering steps towards the stars.
The ceremony starts,

soil from Earth
raked to a fine tilth, the first seeds
in my hand.

I shake them loose
and let them fall.