Extra Hidden Life, among the Days

Sometimes , when i'm very tired , i think of extremophiles , chemolithoautotrophs & others with power for changing not-life into lives , of those that eat rock & fire in volcanoes , before the death of the world but after the death of a human , of their taste for ammonia or iron , sulfur & carbon , somehow enough of it to go on ... As workers taste revolt , they grow at the vents of oceans , turning mute vapor into respiration , changing unhinged matter to hinges , near the rims of sea trenches or the caves ... Our friend wrote of writers living in gray hiding, , of those who love glass & early freedom , steep sand & late freedom , sex among gentle or bitter grasses , those with a taste for blue or belligerence , obscure lives, she called them , the writers of radical mind … The living prefer life , mostly they do , they are ravenous , making shapes in groups as the dying grow one thought until the end , wanting more specifics , desert or delay until the i drops away into i am not here , the mineral other pumps & vast vapors , ridges & shadows beyond the single life it had not thought of—