morning rain

The birds sing loudest here

Near six AM

Now in the soft rain

The doves

The Apapane

The red blossoms

The falling sound of rain

Thru Tree Ferns big

As houses

The drift of cloud

Over the Ohia trees 

where One bird calls

Keeping the secret.

-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.
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