Sonnet for the ufo.

When there around the days sunset’s fell sky,
or as we drive our car towards dead ends
of lanes where lovers park to kiss and cry,
some strange or frightful orb on us descends.
Reflected in your glis’ning soft blue mirr’r -
fair edge of sight still unidentified -
tho would objections raise our lips from here
a diff’rent presence now drifts by our side.
And though thought once was view’d astronomy,
are stars near come to gain the state’s control?
Are saucered craft remarked conspiracy
of earmarked page and men without a soul?
Who knows? For us, behind the steering wheel
these creatures alien might well be real.