I may never get to the Yucatan
to touch the KT boundary at its thickest
that iridium layer exposed
like a line of fat in the tastiest bacon
yet this was where the asteroid slammed,
when the dinosaurs were fried
atomised or blasted by the wind;
when Cretaceous gave way to Tertiary
and little shrews crawled out
into a scene like a nuclear winter.
Chicxulub— how the strange name grates
like the sound of the still ringing earth.
Merely saying it, I get a sense of deja vu,
like a sudden blinding flash
where I glimpse the endless burials
high on the mountain of Kailash
screened on some future sky
image and poem © copyright dfbarker 2012
painting clearly not of Chicxulub but of a scene much nearer to home, namely Hunstanton, where there is at least visible strata in the cliffs.