An accident keeps us coming back to the garden 
under a rain of fungal spores
 
scaly lichens allow the sun 
to bathe them as they rush 
to disintegrate mineral longings

The undergrowth claims a rebellious stance 
as we spread like mycelium,
burying sentiment in decayed leaf-litter 

We beat the sun with heavy fists 
and there are only harsh consequences
to dragging particles 
of light to feed the parasite