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The salamanders' bulbous eyes gleaned
The flash of methane here, little removed
From the Carboniferous where their initials,
Ionized from primal mist, slithered
Through dim forests of fern, leaving mucous
Glistening on their starlit trails.

Now, the environmental wars have exploded again.
And this place has turned firebase ringed with wire.
Flame keeps out the night; a dungeon bunker
Lies beneath pocked mud and mows down
Wood until it falls away from the mire.
A dozer's steel splinters every form
That tries to stand forcing the undines
To dig in and spy from beneath the leaves.

An electrical hum reminds the jungle of what
It's lost. Darkness darkens again. A giant
Metal hand reaches from the concrete,
Cups a skeletal eye, stretches toward the stars.
It opens to light so dim, so old it might blink
For amphibious time, might wobble for a pulsing
Chloroplast, but will hardly wink at bipeds,
Weapons slung between legs, who scar
The loam and scorch their village to save it.

The salamanders creep out and up the bunker walls.
Bipeds lock and load; they strain over screens,
Squint through slits into the black. Listen
For the slither and hiss of lidless eyes and miss
The slime that moistens the back of their dreams.

This poem was previously published in Anemone.
Copyright 2005 by Rodger Martin

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