Mars

May 29th is on a different planet On this planet, my eyes are open and I'm breathing in time with the coastal tides that pull the sea grass, rustling like black market money exchanging hands On this planet, everything is gray, and it's cold like fresh sheets in August back on earth Nothing is sticky, and sand is shaping new footprints for us as we move, shifting with our slightest murmurs of muscle On this planet, nobody speaks because the air is fragile like glass and could shatter at any moment The only sounds are those of the sea grass and the sand and the ocean grabbing for the beach On this planet, nobody dares feeling anything but shortsighted empty, because empty is easy and empty is soft and empty is perfect for echoing silence