Martian Crime Scene

Her scattered remains trail-blazing a failed journey across
The planet’s surface; no diseases, only the same pale flatness
It’s subtle red charter a cold glaze of blood from out of time.
Her hand lay gleaming a thin disastrous fleshtone upon the rocks
The great canyon disguised the yellow strands of her hair,
Cracks in the legendary strata of this martian heart. Across
The endless plain archaic tin whistle singing lures the fool
To his unremarkable disassociation. He waves a wry grin
Disappearing in the tiny-grained sand, its very essence
Her lost bloody child. Hidden Hidden, Shallow, Numismatic.
Is she ever going to be found? The child in her the thing that
Stands for something else. Will he wonder where her coffin
Is delivered? Will he walk down seventh street, unasked? Will
He . . . climb out of . . . the Great Martian Western Sea with
Any piece of her in hand? The yellow man does not know.