The orbit such slow decay
Unnoticed in the field of arbol
The curve of the arc, Icarus knew
But the traffic of angels is a highway overpass
Loud and uncaring in your backyard
There is no turnoff to your sufferings
No one stops, and
The void between the starfields is very, very cold
it doesn't hold the answers you seek

I have no more light to give
No more heat or green or life, I find
I am weak, Oh Malacandra
Would my crimson blood could fill
The canals you have labored so long
to build, millennia strong
Strength succumbing only to dust
Empty chasms across the lone and level sands
Your works, ye Mighty, I despair

Arterial sun upon the VLA fields, the promise that
I will always listen
But I wish I could say, just once
across this empty airless black:
"Come...dry your eyes-
For you are life, rarer than a quark and
Unpredictable beyond the dreams of Heisenberg:
The clay in which the force
That shaped all things
Left their fingerprints most clearly." You are
But I will ever be the silent planet, and
I watch in Keck and Hubble eyes as you
Are increasingly losing your grasp on your stake in the world
And I fear it but I am seeing it
Now and then and in the future
Your crystal castle, ticking, frozen, cracked
has and is and always will be
Crumbling
Into dust that is already red