if we do
explode ourselves
into smithereens
reduced to rubble
under the weight
of our hubris
i know
that disc,
that etched
golden halo,
will be floating
in the stars,
an unfathomable
number of
light years away.
the only evidence
we even existed
at all, a shot
in the dark, asking
the same question
as always:
are you there?
are you listening?
can we be friends?