Moss

The past clings,
like moss, nurtured
by tears unshed,
like sap untapped,
warps minds,
sense of self,
craves perceptional
shift –
a vernal appreciation
for the grandeur
of our contours,
brilliance of wisdom
garnered through strife –
the undeniable elegance
of lush green moss.

(Photo from personal collection: rainforest on Vancouver Island.)

Bitten

Daylight softens
and my lens twitches
to follow the birds
into the brush
to a pond
where green water
ripples, exposes
the presence
of beaver,
slicing through algae.

I click.  Success!
Later revel
in images,
red welts
raising on arms,
legs afire with itch.

(dVerse is back and celebrating 7 years with a quadrille, focus: itch)