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In 8th grade English class my son’s assigned
a sonnet, asked to find an image, select
one metaphor that can expand to bind
disparate thoughts together. He can’t connect
the dots until he thinks of moss in diffuse
light, the way that rain will spore a green
crescendo in the pavement cracks, whose
exhale slips to stillness. Moss between
rough things, green rivulets that spread to fill
his lines. Fern undergrowth, its script writ small
yet intricate as lace, extending until
cairn and culvert, bare escarpment, all
the stony places glow, unfurling plush
in crannies where the air may soften, hush.
~~~~
Copyright 2026 Alison Hurwitz

Alison Hurwitz (she/her), is a former cellist and dancer who finds music in language.
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So good to be blessed by this poem on a chill still snow-shrouded morning. Thanks to Alison, and to you, Michael, for the post.
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A beautiful and sweet sonnet, Alison. That plush!
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Isn’t she great?
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