Stones and Moss I

I am captured by the stones.

The way they sit there -

piled and scattered -

in and out of relation

with each other.

The mosses can fold themselves,

if they like,

over the stones,

making mortar of themselves

for mounds of shifting rock.

They hold me, too.
I sit here,

among them,

and am unable to move;

sucking in the sun

and the rain

and the water

and listening to time pass with the moon -

Wondering how it all has

come together.

Have the rocks

and moss themselves

been arranged in such a pattern,
or do I, in my seeing, arrange them

in what appears to be a pattern –

even when scattered loosely

like debris. Do their forms exist in

any real way other than the way

I think I see them.