Speaking with Wren


I wish I’d had a conversation with you, Wren.

You hopped as close to me as any wren has.


Foolishly, I tried to photograph you.


Though you came almost to my toe, I missed

speaking with you other than to say, hello.

And I did not capture your portrait.


You might have had a lesson,

a warning, a piece of advice

for another being, alone of her kind,

along the shrubby edge, among the trees

at the top of the mountain.


Perhaps you knew, as I suspected,

the rain would soon begin,

with a cold downpour,

some drops falling

in crystalline form.


Perhaps you would have told me

to set aside the camera,

in the quiet morning,

when wisps of clouds

graced our bodies.


Told me to listen to what Earth

and her Spirits have to say today.

Attune to the songs of sky, ocean,

mountains, trees, forests.


Focus on the patterns

of cedar’s greenery,

the swirls of her bark.


Experience the energies

that pass right through,

light changed to sound,

to invisible waves

which penetrate, traverse,

alter and transform.


Instead, I hold the memory of your

round brown body,

your bright eye,

your scavenging,

your searching,

your approach,

your be-ing

and the conversation

we might have had.