I Love The Moss. A Comfort To The Stones. Poem by RIC BASTASA

my hands
can never hold
the sky

it is my mind
that climbs the
stairs of
your heaven

you are a god
sitting on your throne
why do you seek me?
a stone, a cut flower,
a dead ant,

loneliness is the
sickness too of those
who believe
they belong there

sun, moon and stars
a bouquet of bodies
you should have known
beforehand
that they are beyond
the hands of feelings

look at you, bearded
by light, vomiting storms
stabbed by the sharp blades
of your own thunder

i love the moss.
a comfort to the stones.