My story is the grand epic
in which humans control nature,
said the experimenter—
I just have to write
the last chapter.
My story is ready now,
said the moss, as he
began telling.
He was quite a storyteller.
He could make his audience soften their feet
as he spoke; he could make them damp
with anticipation even before
he mentioned the rain.
He had them swinging with his words
on a trapeze of lichen, bringing them along
on the saga that crossed continents
merging earth and water.
He had our cells joining in,
each of them becoming a star
in the sky of knowing—
able to repair our wounds
even while we sleep,
carrying us along on
filaments of renewal
like the mycelia feeding
a whole forest of trees
readying themselves
to answer the call
of the sun.
