Slime-moulds are on the move,
Bright yellow pinheads coating pine needles,
White jelly
Smeared on grass and stem,
Each a myriad host of one-celled genius
Looking like lichen, fallen from a tree.

They move, invisibly, together,
Drawn by an unheard, secret summons
Out of the the earth,
Out of isolated self-sufficiency.

Congregate, merge,
Conglomerate, collaborate,
All with one aim:

Swarm up the sweet stems of grass.
Sporulate.

Let the party begin.