The Gator-Back Rocks of Mars

The single cell begins to struggle
To settle in the organism.
Guidance signals are overflowing.

How could anything be located
Between the bombing teams and the teams
Supercooling million-mile lenses,

Between endless news feeds of arrests
And celebrity revenue streams?
The single cell stumbles to anchor

At all in its own basic functions,
Calm conversations with its neighbors,
Alert, avoiding apoptosis.

On mission sol three-thousand something
A small box of devices on Mars
Sends back more images of the rocks

It’s been climbing slowly all these years,
The rough ones that have damaged its wheels.
The single cell stares. How's this, too, real?