In Each and Every Thing Which Crawls or Walks or Even Slowly Grows as Moss or Lichen

Know that Though I have said so many things To so many of you And though you have responded With such kindness and love that it draws the tears from my eyes as from a well These things are only temporary; I will be gone some day And there may be no person to speak … Continue reading In Each and Every Thing Which Crawls or Walks or Even Slowly Grows as Moss or Lichen

Soil

Strike. Fall. Rain on hollow oak. Moss grows quietly on the hillside. Drawing moisture from the cool air. The smell of decaying leaves fills nostrils. I sit on the ancient stone precipice, Staring out into the abyss, Watching the stars move slowly across the dark sky.