The Echo of What Remains Collected Poems of Wanda Lea Brayton
“The time is coming when man will give birth to no more stars.”
— from the prologue of "Thus Spoke Zarathustra" by Frederich Nietzsche
The moon's many vagaries slip through her pale ribs,
shimmering with volatile indifference.
She is envious of our mortality,
shimmering with volatile indifference.
She is envious of our mortality,
wise to our vulnerabilities,
eager to repay vendettas with mere dust.
Her terrible provocation of tides
eager to repay vendettas with mere dust.
Her terrible provocation of tides
evoke curled caution within the meek -
she watches us tremble,
she watches us tremble,
her mocking glance veiled by clouds.
What cares she of lovers,
What cares she of lovers,
of wild wings held aloft by wind?
She is caught within the sky,
She is caught within the sky,
captured by circumstance,
her perception, an orbital observation
her perception, an orbital observation
of what lies beneath.
She is cold
She is cold
and needs the sun's molten embrace
to soothe her chill,
yet is infinitely denied this comfort
by Man's bitter intrigues,
his casual inventions of stars.
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