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.