Moss grows in cracks in the wall
In the spaces between the bricks.
It is green, so green as to capture the mind.
The moss that caps the wall, it is as a valley,
Curving down smoothly,
forming
dips
and mounds.
In this miniature world,
The concrete is as mountains.
It towers up above the green of the moss
Though occasionally a tendril reaches up above it
A tendril which peaks the bricks
To which they claim.
Tiny blades
Like
Grass,
They emerge from the endless fields
Small trees
Topped with small balls of the luminous.
The meadows are dotted with flowers
Spots of yellow, almost gold.
They paint the moss
They make it real.
They tie it to the universe.
