the exposed red maple leaves
continue to brown and crumble
around our three rough thuja trunks.
My confused grasses craze
across the lawn, sprout then
dry out, try again against
a high sun on this chilled May morning.
I've placed what I think
are slate stones in the azalea bed
with the blooms - are they lavender? lilac?
Plain pale purple is what they are.
But I am truly stumped by the mosses,
almost alien under the north
shadow of the house,
just unmoved green stuff.
Without their magical name
I am powerless. The day advances
between the rock's carpet
and the rock's flakes.