One day to
lay down
be a
passive rock
in time
allow moss
to explore
and cling -
a beard of sorts.
Tiny moss
hands
find holds
in crevices
and thoughts
whisper
secrets
into dreams.
One day in
time
to soak up
eternal sunshine
like the
rock
heat penetrates
blocks the
doubt.
To find the
silent song
so strong
all ears
can hear
and decide
to pay it
no heed.
One day to
be a wall
a spine, a gated
arch where hands
your hands
might
linger, touch, remember
the fields
once rested in.
