Night Poem

The house is mine again

The footsteps

The scattered pebbles of laughter

Falling still


Dark poems furled in translucent wing

hang from the rafters of sleep.



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, Poetry, Small Stones, The River, WOWH. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Night Poem

  1. wrensong says:

    And to you, Teri. After a week of family in the house I have a couple of days break, family in again till the 3rd. Then! Quiet again.

  2. tmhHoover says:

    I am three days ahead of you and almost re-balanced into the quiet home after the holidays. Hope you had lovely moments. Happy New Year-

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