"People who daily expect to encounter fabulous realities run smack into them again and again. They keep their minds open for their eyes." (Ken Macrorie)
Thursday, March 7, 2013
How must it be
Moss by Bruce Guernsey How must it be to be moss, that slipcover of rocks? -- imagine, greening in the dark, longing for north, the silence of birds gone south. How does moss do it, all day in a dank place and never a cough? -- a wet dust where light fails, where the chisel cut the name.