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.