Poetry for Engineers: A Martian Rover Sends a Postcard Home

Already, I've almost forgotten rain;
I know I will never know that again.

I move forward with the powers you gave me
to live up to my name, Curiosity.

This is a land without leaves, fronds, or spines.
If there are plants, they are small and supine,

dust hidden, like light here, filtered and sand
softened, at home in the thin air, thousands

of motes so small they seem to be fluid,
more fog than firmament. Shadows, few and

far from here, I know I must go to them
to see if they hold order or mayhem

or just another common rock or two.
If a machine can miss the Earth, I do.