i compose myself
for the sniper
the hundred-year flood
the flint of winter
spring-loaded
like a mountain rabbit
i could be the type specimen
for a new extremophile
hardy as a tardigrade
tender as an endolith
the laundry basket holds
all my changes of heart
still warm
from the late Carboniferous
like the wood lice
that wander under rocks
i am crepuscular
my sky is stern
Marvellous. Not enough poems include the word ‘extremophile’.
Thanks, Ama. There are so many great new words that poets should be deploying…
Fun!
Glad you liked! Thanks.