Stones and Moss

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 against
the mounds of
shifting rock.

They hold me, too.

I sit here
among them

unable to move;
captivated by their
them-ness. Soaking in
the rain and listening
to  time pass

with the moon.

Photo and Poem from the Isle of Skye 1995