Opportunity Lost

I like to think Opportunity faked its death
with one last postcard for the boys back home
and still roves Martian landscapes, whistling
show tunes in its twilight years.
 
I like to imagine it waited out the storm
in an undiscovered cave, watching whorls of dust
exulting in freedom, perhaps switching off
sensors to leave the memory unmeasured.
 
I cannot bear to think it saw the storm
boiling over distant canyons, understood
its nature, and sagged beneath
the weight of its name.
 
No, I cannot bear to imagine
something so human as that.
 

 
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