These Perfect Flowers

The one who leaves

turns all his thoughts

toward the journey. . .

the one

who remains. . .

only

quiet rooms

the counted days

these perfect flowers.

-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, flowers, Poetry, Small Stones, The River. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to These Perfect Flowers

  1. tmhHoover says:

    I have something to say about this …but I don’t know what. Yet. Ah I think I know… You find blessings even in the staying where you are. I really like this piece. xo teri

  2. All those colors and beautiful word have truly brightened my day. 🙂

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