A garden of lichen on the tree,
\nsmall paradisal zone,
\nthe back of old hands
\nwith the story of labor,
\ndigging and building,
\nlifting children,
\nscars of a roughened life.
\nMoss grows
\nin the crevices of the bark,
\nbetween the highways of the roots.
\nWith my cheek to the ground
\nI look up through its canopy,
\ninto halls of emerald light,
\nthe chastened dusk of silver rooms,
\njewel box of another world,
\ncountry of wounds and awakenings.<\/p>\n
Earth,
\nseen from the distance of a star,
\nsmall pebble of insignificance,
\nuntil,
\neyes looking closer,
\nare suddenly caressed,
\ngiven a place
\nwhere beauty builds walls,
\nsoars in the rapture of its beams,
\nby a road
\nsmelling of dust and oil,
\ncars running over birds,
\npalisade of gentleness,
\ncountry of lichen and moss,
\nknown only by those
\nwho see into the small,
\nand are invited in.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
A garden of lichen on the tree, small paradisal zone, the back of old hands with the story of labor, digging and building, lifting children,…<\/p>\n