It was late May when I began the journal, a record of descents, tours of the abyss,
& catalogues of blackness. One morning, I woke having dreamt
I was the vehicle of aliens—no joke!—a stiff robotic self
Impeccably designed to go out into our world & hunt other people. My alien
Engineers had expected more success, I’m sure. The dream never made it clear
Exactly the fate of those I’d encountered, though I’m sure my friends
Might have something to say on this subject. At last
My daughter recognized me, I mean the “Me”
Within the “Me” who was the robot transport, & just that touch of her hand
In recognition made all of those internal extra-Earthly mini-parasites
Evaporate like dust motes in the wind. Thanks, I said out loud
As I woke to the blaze of sunlight in the bedroom. You’re welcome, she said, just
There at the bedside, her hand on my head, for God only knows how long.