Successional
You want light.
You want it more than most…
fight for it, treachery and spite
your consort and your host.
Increasing your fitness
while growing white and mossy,
defeat your only witness
while you become more glossy…
And the moons appear and disappear
in a steady march towards mold
and we become a memory
successional, and old.
Read More Poems From the New York Almanack HERE.
Illustration courtesy Keith G. Tidball.
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