The Echo of What Remains Collected Poems of Wanda Lea Brayton
Winter performed a mighty glissade,
keeping its balance with vulnerability and valor
hedged against the tender pall.
Hibernation became my wise reckoning.
Spring taunted me with burgeoning buds
and whispered with incessant insouciance.
I felt the greening within,
long before its warmth settled upon the nape of my neck
as the horizon moaned its awful ache.
This inviolable landscape shuddered swiftly
and arched into Summer’s rage of fiery breath,
stealing my splendor of song, its slow echoes lost.
I waited patiently for the onslaught, the oncoming vortex -
soft wind loose, then tightened into smaller circles
that cautioned a confluence of chill chaos.
Autumn arrives now, its welcome hearth
resplendent with the solemn solace of flame.
The ardor of leaves as they scurry within the lane
brings humility and comfort to bones ever weary for rest.
Redolent with harvest,
sinuous storms will follow.
I gather a gradual, cautious bouquet of silence
from branches bared with knowing what lies ahead
while September begins to compose
its crisp and brilliant symphonies.