This carpet of moss
Soft, thick, springy
Sucks my  feet in a
Rubbery  way as I step
Gingerly, tussock to tussock.

The  land is scrubbed quite
Green from  my  eyes to the
Horizon, forests of moss growing
Thickly over the scaly ground
Beneath my  feet.     >

Such  juices cover the land,
Squelching, yielding, sucking
At  me as the press of
My  weight weighs it down
Until I take the rise

Of  the land and stand -
Small summit  - looking down at
Tangled, twisted metal and
Concrete-rubbled  boxes that
Once  were buildings of some

Sort.  A million black windows
Clustered, black-eye-stares
Through  cracked grey walls -
Craters in space - a million black
Holes staring blankly at the sun

And  I, shivering, wonder
What  sort of building was this
Set in landscape, sinking in moss
For  people to be in and
Look  through lost?
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