(February 1990)

Moss
greens them.
Wearied of life,
decrepit now in death,
trees’ hulks, decaying termite lairs,
molder amongst last year’s leaf litter
as chill rainfall funnels down churning runnels.
Nowhere can living leaf or stem be seen.
Soon (please) will come the greening spring:
fern fronds then will curl, unfurl,
ground-ivy creep, coltsfoot prance about,
and violets trickle out.
Now, though, only
moss is
green.