Moss

With a pang of separation I begin

The journey to the ends of the world

Or just the corner over there…?

Down the slopes rolls the stone.

A stream the rocks have bred,

A flutter of leaves newly shed.

Pushed and nudged on its way

By the gusts that whistle amidst,

By the dewdrops and morning mist.

And the world is lovely.

I nestle among my fellows

And listen to what they say.

One’s been to the beyond and back,

The other wants to see them all

And I nestle and listen.

The stone likes his company.

Rugged and battered although they feign,

They’re straight and they’re welcoming,

They lie together through storm and rain

And together they rush downhill

Singing songs of this and that.

I swim down the river of life,

Down to the cities and the plains.

Washes me onto this bank to roll,

Alas! Without the moss I’d gathered.

It’s strange but it’s new, this new world is

And I roll on, unwillingly, grudgingly.

Under the orange heavens, the stone rolls on.

The sights odd, the sounds uncanny,

Yet can different be the stars?

Companions anew, and perspectives afresh

And love for company. And it nestles back

As the sand avalanches far off, all too fast…

I wish I could stay here, snug into the turf.

The cosmic struggle grows within.

The romantic’s hopeless dream surely

That the Universe can fail, or make an exception

Until the rock runs its course downstream

To wither at the bottom of the sea.