I wonder if the moon seemed higher
To those who first stood on it
Or their families looking up at foreign stars.
Would they even know where to look?

An adjunct obsidian dotted with deceptive white,
So similar from afar, betraying none of their detail,
None of the subtle brilliance defining each world
As the universe that could have been.

Where here water trickles, there miasma flows,
Yet the patterns left behind are so strikingly similar
One wonders if there is a difference at all,
Where echoes of purpose mar different soil.

Is the choice more apparent on the land where we dwell,
Or from that sombre vantage so solemnly watching?
Those that have gone always wish to come back;
Would they know a new world if they found it?

Would they even know where to look?