Dirty Little Moss
By Dan Paquette
Dirty little moss
on the cottonwood trunk,
my spray bottle
washes away the debris.
Your stem snuggles close
to your siblings, green
unbrushed curls
of sun-loving leaves.
Your generation lies
criss-crossed above
tired wet scaffolding
twisted remnants
of your first borne branches
and some great, great
uncles and aunts
in mucous, brown
intertwined stems, leaves??
limp banners
of whom
they once were??
mosses.
One day, your skin
will be coal pudding
for some thermal bacteria
long after you and I
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