Volumes of water pours from a canyon Mars might have;
red/filled with porous rock as the sky stills itself as though
movement would penetrate the sky to unalterable space;

Space that laughs and wheels around a nameless sun;
space where communicants undress each other with thoughts.

Where they send out images of a terrible and dustless world.

Where rushing and fluid corridors of water/impose the patterns it
         steals from rocks.