This is for Dusk – a typewriter poem

this is for dusk

Written at sunrise already imagining the evening upon us and knowing I might miss it, that last light, as I prepare the Fire Ceremony, the soup for friends, the platters of conversation. Maybe just saying it now will remind me to go to the window on what promises to be a fiercely cold afternoon and look thru the darkening trees for the slipping light. . .for a moment to hold the grace of it, to remember how fleeting the chance to love.

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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 new years eve, Poetry, typewriter poems and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

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