A Thousand Mossy Stones

The remaining light,

of these final days,

slips in through cracks,

whether glints or rays.

A thousand mossy stones,

I piled them high.

This cairn around me,

has eaten my sky.

Some day, some time,

the moss will mix

with this decay of mine.

The cairn’s keystone,

final and fixed.


© CGT, 2018.

3 Comments on “A Thousand Mossy Stones

  1. I had moss on the brain today, so am officially ‘liking” it now. My mind is a museum of paintings; you have a whole permanent exhibit.

    Like

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