the curiosity rover hummed
happy birthday to itself
exactly once
(inside a martian crater, sound
waves asphyxiated
by the thin
atmosphere)
and it probably
never will again
if i survive
the apocalypse (and
why would i, it is
called apocalypse
for a reason)
may it please what remains that
i have enough
to coax my vocal
cords arid as the last
meter before
an oasis to vibrate
out precisely the frequencies
to sing happy birthday
to myself in all
my stark lonesome
metallic fear
perhaps even
enough to remember
and sing happy birthday
to curiosity too
on the anniversary
of its landing on
its forever planet
the song a reminder
that here is breath
still, to stoke the fire
of each mitochondrion
whose membrane a tiny
bulwark against
the inevitable and
always coming
and for curiosity a hymn
that this earth was ever
verdant, ever noisy, with air
pressure that helped you
hear what i sang
that it ever belonged
to us, and us ever to life