i trace my fingers along the edges of the rover's windows
my eyes plunging and rising
the habit of seeking a focus
in the pale red noise of dust and fines
on the other side of the glass

i rise, pace back and forth in this patient cage,
the imposed inaction of our resolute decision
will the wind arrive in time? will we?
sit, sleep rise eat pace, the hours pass
eyes glued to the increasing figures
broken by
pure dust howling wind red fines empty mind

trading sharp caresses
failure to soothe
our presence in every present
and yet it seems our pasts have diverged
come on wind
over that wall
come on, push
the wind has come

katabatic winds our weapon
we lay our bodies upon them
hold fast to one another
lay waste the prison
and free our brother

we have been myth
we shall be history
a shock to those white-knuckle gripped
to a powerful present

that stories can be a material force
that the past shapes our course

whether for him
or for us
o subtle point of disctintion!
o elusive line of demarcation!

we've far to go
and no terrain to guide us
only a direction
and each other

heads bent, push forward
falling and rising, again and again
to arrive in surprise in perfect time
ready at last to begin

lines drawn out
(leave no one behind)
in a long war
(what's been done to your mind)
make a small cut and it will all aground
under the force of the storm we brought down

circle back around

scornful pride
wounded heart
difficult women
a world apart

not decisive
on a whim
bitter words
upturned chin

don't ever let them forget
that i am capable of revenge

flashing eyes
committed acts
we always said
you can never go back