A Fondness for the Lifeless

In picture after picture,
Mars looks better and better—

All the grace of Earth’s deserts,
None of the scrubby clutter.

Can we hope that there’s no life
On Mars, whether there ever

Or not was? The ruined rocks
Occasionally tumble

But never consume, tremble,
Starve, or run away in fear.

They exist. They’re there. They seem
Astonishingly peaceful

Under dusted, pinkish domes
Of the thinned and deathless air.