Welcome gardeners.

On human condition
       The moss

a flowing in, a flowing out
the soul is drawn out
       to the ache of the earth
a cushioned seat for 
       breaking hearts
the long separation drives
       me mad. 
            
       I wish I could go
home again
        where the earth aches
and breathes, a flowing
in
     a
          flowing
                       out
ups and downs
    a sorrel leaf
           for a loved one
my mind is gone
      tucked in the trees
and love and loss 
  can't find a ground
when I'm so far from 
          mine. 

Can this manufactured 
life revive my soul? 
It smells like home
and looks like home
     but my mind
     knows it isn't.
Can it spring me 
back?

Can the sun melt me
into a form that 
        knows peace?