Time has made me a mole.
A thrower of dirt, a rebreather
defined by my runs;
blinking in the occasional dazzle
of that other world
then head back down in the blanketing dark,
swimming through earth with my
double thumbs, sniffing and
pushing with my starburst nose,
living on whatever I find
that thinks itself safe underground.
This poem is a tunnel,
a simple device through which
the wriggling earthworm falls,
stunned and saved in my black pantry,
where I keep all the juiciest creatures
just for you.
Note: Moles have a special sort of hemoglobin which allows them to absorb more oxygen while above-ground and reuse it later. They have two thumbs per paw, and construct tunnels in order to 'trap,' devour and store wandering earthworms, which they paralyze with a toxin in their saliva. You can find out more about the lifestyle, physique and habits of moles here on wikipedia:
Images: An Egyptian Poppy with a Water Mole, 1912, by John Crome; Public Domain via wikiart.
Star-nosed Mole (Condylura) by the US National Park Service; Public Domain via wikimedia