The Echo of What Remains Collected Poems of Wanda Lea Brayton
Give me the stones
from your shoes, Beloved.
Let not this path become weary
from your emboldened stride.
Open your palms to these auspicious mornings
and allow colors to tremble
from your fingers
as divine mergings awaken.
Be soft upon my mouth
as you linger near this place of sanctuary -
we will call the evening mild
throughout the storm.
Trust what we know to be truth undeferred
beneath your subtle glance -
terrors of the night will not tear you from my side
nor will the ecstasies of the day deter us
from evolutions we will claim
beyond these walls of silence.
Give me the stones
from your shoes, Beloved.
Let me grind them into ancient dust.
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