Like a Hand Opening and Closing

my heart trembles like a small hand

opening and closing around

these tender blossoms


Over the garage roof, passed

the corner of the house, beyond

the big pine, nearly hidden by

leafing branches is the blaze of

pink from the Magnolia tree

that lives around the corner

and down the block which is

in such stunning bloom we gasp

at the sight of it. Each spring

we marvel again and my heart

trembles with small beats like

a hand opening and closing around

these tender brief blossoms,

even now fluttering in this

chill wind, rain coming.

-wrensong

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About wrensong

I am a poet who collects stones. I am a wanderer of creek beds and forests, canyons and high desert who, coming home, sometimes finds words to tell the story. I am a companion with others in the search for Deep, Wild Soul. I shape containers in time and space for others to come together to write, to tell their stories, to hold each other in the telling. I am a grandmother and the companion of a cat named Alaya. I often travel out into open country with a man who calls himself Dunewalker who has hung his hammock in my heart.
This entry was posted in A River of Stones, aros, Nature, Poetry, Spring, The River. Bookmark the permalink.

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