Existing comment:
From "PM/AM New and Selected Poems"
By Linda Pastan
The Moss Palace
At Kokodera you saw as many kinds of moss
as there are names for snow among the eskimos,
and the moss lay in deep banks like snow. You tell
me of soft jade between the stones,
of fur on the north side of trees,
of wild pincushions at the edge of a stream, as smooth
as the pads of an animal's paw when it
rests its tamed head upon your lap.
Moss serves no purpose the gardener says, neglect your
lawn and moss will overtake it.
I want to be overtaken by moss, to walk in my bare feet
on twenty different kinds, to move from
the hardness of rock to sudden velvet and sink the way
I sink in the green of your eyes when you speak of
going with me to Japan, when the place
where my body stops and yours begins is moss. |