Under its frigid, dusty surface,
Mars is humming.
Alien music.
The Martian song that never ends.
The first few months of listening
were worryingly quiet.
A harrowing descent
to a flat, featureless expanse.
It’s a waiting game,
a slow march.
Streams of charged particles,
turbulence in solar winds,
a sudden release,
and the marsquakes roll in.
A series of deep slashes,
pockets of magma,
the movement of molten rock,
a seismic signal,
the mysterious pulse,
the quiet, constant drone,
the source remains unknown.
The invisible conductor
of this magnetic orchestra
is likely high above
those Martian rumbles.
Your voice is a mix of frequencies,
and if one matches the resonance of a bell,
your shouts can set it ringing.