Buds
Like children,
all new things begin
hidden.
A cloak of its own skin,
of its own making,
furled against the wind.
Time and heat reveal all -
the two are twinned.
Like galaxies,
all new things begin
in darkness.
A cloak slowly dropped,
unfurling as surely
as the heat that escapes it,
as steadily as the time
that marks it,
as patiently as
ever.
Moss
Wraps branches, drapes trunks,
carpets.
Hangs twigs as if tattered sleeves,
shelves dew.
Props the fallen leaves,
coats and jackets trees,
hugs the world
around you.