if i find a place
where everything is nice
i would not have to answer
   what nice is
or whether nice is
boring - neither here
there nor where you are
   nice in our best
moments which, in this place
   all moments are

it would grow on me
like moss, wet soft dripping
   with comforting cold
yet never chill, warm
deep green of shades to brown
as the earth pulls down
leaves in covers always near
   the trickle of the stream
muddy feet, and the ratta-tat-tat
of the unseen flying beast
justly boring holes in trees
for its great unmoving feast