Terrunform

We came trained to turn the land on
to the sun’s look, teach this world to be ours;
as others dress the hills — smart-lichen to blush
hot green across cold red — we drill the shining
soil, and slowly, in these thrice-stretched
summers, it Marsforms us.

See the forecasts we send back:
new curls of continent, the planet tempered
by our toil, just like home — but in these days we slough
off our soft flesh; I rebuild you, and you rebuild me
in these nights that unfix us, these skies
that rewire us, copper and light —

and remember what we said
young girls with red star-stoked eyes?
It wasn’t new Earth we wanted, but to be
double-mooned, double-dreamed, multiformed in
mix-matched parts; to put our bodies on
each day, in shapes to fit our hearts

— and the red-gazy girls that
stand there still, and see this star
engreened, should know: how we twist
in the thinner grip of this gravity, how space
is the roar in our wires, and how I look past your
shoulder out to the black, and scratch a rocket into your back.