Mother Nature knits;
did you know that?
She covers trees with sweaters
threads of moss, knit one, pearl one,
into a wondrous warmth.
"Moss kills," they said.
"It's a hazard and a danger," they said.
But
the poison lies in moss' natural longing to create:
bond with the roots, become one with the dirt.
Trouble is the dead objects in the way,
Skyscrapers, sheets of concrete.
Mother Nature never asks permission to permeate
because She dwells in the always living.
I walk in Her woods with one whisper:
"I'm sorry,
I'm sorry,
I'm sorry."
We ask forgiveness for littering Your body
with crumbling buildings that do not breathe.
I cry to you, O Holy One, to remember me,
I will not refuse your growth in me,
You never need to ask forgiveness in order to create
on this body.
Dwell in me, knit me into Your
web of trees, roots, and leaves.
Buildings and institutions are rotting,
but this body trembles with life,
so grow all over me,
like you do on the trees.
