The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker 
The Tropics of Moss

To know the intricacies of stone
The flow of forest sargassum
Even amanita holds no gnostic sway
Before emerald carpets of the rootless
Unadorned by laurel mage
and orchid enchantress
Spiralling the heavens with spores
Every crevice found a throne
thusly we dwell in 
The archeology of Bryophytians.

Exhale not so deeply lest 
we disturb the wisdom of tessellation,
Bow in their presence and raise
no chalky skull above their 
crowning diligence, then
may our broken bones 
become the children of the
symbiosis of tomorrow.
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