Mars, a red god waits.
Moth’s line draws his flame,
lanced with the dark blood
of a burnt crust moon.
Poets wore me down,
fanned my bitter wake.
This long abandoned
locus for earth dreamers.
I scrubbed the coasts
and washed the cliffs.
A tidal gift,
grit stone, moon fist.
Below, a wolf howl,
bat’s roost. Above
dark side sun sleeps,
cold burns my back.
You came and played
on dust grey plains.
Clawed prints gripped
my pristine lands.
Beneath a conqueror’s
tattered flag, scattered
foil and plastic debris.
Dog-man cherishes tree.
Scorched regolith makes
a promise of return.
But you, you left and
never once looked back.
© Dai Fry 10th April 2020.