The Gentle World
There is a gentle world.
Mushrooms send their healing
mycelia through the mossy earth,
trees listen with their sensitive leaves
to the weeping in the wind,
and communication runs through stone.
There is a gentle world. And it must be so
because the mountains are so large,
with millions of human feet smoothing
and indenting the ridges of rock,
and our faces shine
from caresses, too.
Love is a mist. There is pain
but with empathy, veins of justice
in the worn-down cornerstones of towns;
and we uphold the basics
like strangers calling people Darling
for those who like that endearment,
advice for one who loses hope,
sedatives for one with too much hope.
There is gold drifting down,
brilliance in the scales of fishes,
carved bowls overflowing with seeds,
enough macerated plums
for us to feel grateful.
Joel Moskowitz, an artist and retired picture framer,
lives with his wife and cat in Maynard, Massachusetts. His poems have appeared in J Journal, Naugatuck River Review, Midstream,
The Healing Muse, and Whiskey Island Magazine; and the online journals Muddy River Review, Boston Poetry Magazine and Soul-Lit. He is a First Prize winner of the Poetry Society of New Hampshire National Contest.