Yesterday’s House

Down in the cold caverns of earth

tiny black seeds break free of their

winter houses, pressing tender green

feet into moist soil.

 

While over this inland sea a sun

flares up from the dark line of dreams

setting everything on fire.

We, like Alice, like small dark seeds,

are too big now for yesterday’s house.

Everything expands, explodes, pushes

outward. We, too, are lit from within,

aflame with green fire, green and greening,

reaching up with our pale arms waving

longing for light, thirsty for light, wildly leafing.

-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 aros, house, Nature, Poetry, seeds, Spring, The River. Bookmark the permalink.

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