The first man on Mars
jumped off his shuttle into a little pool
of water, fumbled the first line:
   This’ll be an easy thing
     to remember
didn’t sound so brave.

Big heavy boot knocked momentum
swirl in the body; waves marked presence,
active, fed, lapped rust from the edges,
from the bottom of the pool.

Sediment roused murky. Dulled reflection of the sun
shone enough to show him interference, surface tension.
The properties of water knew anything could be a seed.

He didn’t leave the spot for a day. And when the sun rose
Martian cold biting sunk into him. Even Moses had to die.

   The body stayed for science.
    Bottom feeders fed the soil
 like they do anywhere. A billion bacteria
carried the link, kept him on the ground.
It’s how it goes. We draw on each other
to go back home.

[Editor’s Note: Publication of this poem was made possible by a gift from Anna Genoese during our annual Kickstarter.]