Lichen
Robert Wrigley
Not a moss but slower, a kind of lumpenproletariat
fungus come in bunches no one keeps an eye on.
Grandmother ones, grandfathers, though where they're at
they're babies, half birthed among a thousand tiny generations.
And lacey they are, tightly massive as minimal forests,
but always more beautiful the closer you look.
And holding the dew in billions of pin-prick droplets,
they drink their fill and wait, the very name meaning to lick.
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