//creative//
Fall 2019
Fall 2019
The infinitesimal moss's inch
Isabelle Morley
The infinitesimal moss’s inch
across the limestone thumbprint has usurped
the sand and water ground of giants’ work;
Vespasian lies decaying in a crypt.
And even here the rain blooms mold from wood.
The line between gravel and grass is blurred
by purslane, dandelions who withstood
the wyrd, the lady’s wheel—the entropy.
But I know Candide, the weed-plucking man
who forged a home in soil and flowers
amidst the whirlwind. For homo faber
the crabgrass is perennial, but hands,
with grime-coated nails, will hold it at bay
until the passing of our works and days.
across the limestone thumbprint has usurped
the sand and water ground of giants’ work;
Vespasian lies decaying in a crypt.
And even here the rain blooms mold from wood.
The line between gravel and grass is blurred
by purslane, dandelions who withstood
the wyrd, the lady’s wheel—the entropy.
But I know Candide, the weed-plucking man
who forged a home in soil and flowers
amidst the whirlwind. For homo faber
the crabgrass is perennial, but hands,
with grime-coated nails, will hold it at bay
until the passing of our works and days.
//ISABELLE MORLEY is a senior at Columbia College. She can be reached at im2498@columbia.edu.