Figure C13 OBLITERATE

Descending for the last time into Earth

We reach a solemn catacomb of stone

Marked in an unknown script. Of little worth

Our struggle, then, if we must end alone,

Abandoning our citadel of bone.

Yet every person we encountered took

Impressions of us: memories are sown

No less than in a war or learnéd book,

In a confused expression or a dirty look.