I long for land that’s not (Edit 1.)

[busker]

I long for land that’s not

within reach of Putin's missiles. 
Like a bunker against fissile
material in New Zealand,
a modern day Hades
where you breathe the salty air of stalactites. 

A more antiseptic plan
eliminates even prokaryotes. Surprised
into existence with water
who will be when the oceans rise 
and leap over the ghosts of lords and ladies
promenading on the esplanade.

A new world totters
with strange forms crawling on the seafloor.


Old version:

I long for land that’s not

A castle in Toulouse
with a park in the grounds,
but under a Moreton Bay fig’s awning,
its loose basket of lush
green leaves, the sound of a brush 
tailed possum haunting it after dark
and lorikeets in the dawning.

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Probably needs to be rewritten ??

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Smileys disappeared again