THERE WILL BE TIME FOR MOSS
Inventories,
like spring cleaning,
annoy me,
and when it rains, I sleep.
Forgotten things
prove me absent-minded,
although I still keep
goods in storage at times.
Once I did pushups
and kept an earnest face,
collected books, maps, stamps,
and played the sweepstakes.
Now I rehearse dreams
the better to remember them
and navigate by leaves
between green and golden.
How I am or where,
no one knows for sure
except my mother;
she gets letters.