Transmission from an Astronaut Dying on Mars

Transmission from an Astronaut Dying on Mars

Mike,

The thing I will miss most,
other than the company of a woman,
is the hint of rain gathering in the air.

Sure, I have stars, bracelets
glittering in an open vault,

as you do,
but no woman curls up against my chest,
and no rain trawls my roof.

Why should I succumb to despair?
A private room in Florida—
or a bunk on a red planet—
does it matter?

Wherever we live
the heart plays itself out,
every life

like a satellite in the path of a sun's
magnetic storm...
forces out of our control dooming us.

Tonight, when you sense a subtle change
in the darkness around you,
a neighbor's porch light having gone out, perhaps,

remember me, and how our lives
have crossed,

my body's systems already
in the early stages of shutting down,

like lights faltering
on a neighborhood's
failing electrical
grid.