The Lizards of Mozaga
You can hear them on the lava fields,
Scuttle-scuttle deep in the dry gorse,
Dart-dart through undergrowth,
Hunted by shrike and hawk,
Dash-dash under bubble-set lava,
As ancient as their volcanic landscape,
Pausing to soak rays and catch breath,
Darting tongues towards the sun,
Scurry-scurry over,
Over lichens, too bright for hoopoes,
Smallest monsters over the picon,
Breaking now for the shade,
Seeking protection from the prickly pear –
Into safe and secret dusty places.
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