The Echo of What Remains Collected Poems of Wanda Lea Brayton
Hurry, he says -
the dawn is reducing night
to mere shadow.
I hasten to the window
as clouds swirl haphazardly in a pale sky.
The horizon glistens with promise.
Trees undulate in wind’s rhythms,
imitating fire.
Hurry, he says -
this day will not be still.
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