Dikarya

In what universe

counting chances 

under grey skies 

like paper flowers.

I thought there might

be a chance

fragile, uncertain

opening into night sun. 

So many words

flowing hot as lava

pyroclastic, our disaster 

on the move 

one last entry 

in the book of longing. 

Other species

will come

weaving through earth

bodies to withstand heat.

Memory

encoded at the cellular

interface, fallen trees

spatial recognition.

Odd comfort

when we’ve evolved 

ourselves into extinction.

Bacteria and fungi

cleaning the mess, feeding

on death’s gory nutrients

building a new civilisation 

out of chitin.