The Subtle Atlas of Moss

On the ancient back of a rock,
where the rain has etched slow grooves,
the moss spreads its mute velvet,
a secret map of silent worlds.

It craves no horizons, nor high peaks,
only the damp veil, the friendly shadow.
It draws nets where life weaves,
a constant green, never weary.

Without a voice, without a single glance,
it raises forms where the stone is silent.
A living mantle, an unexpected view,
that offers the ancient rock a new face.