The Echo of What Remains Collected Poems of Wanda Lea Brayton
Fledglings have fallen from their nest,
a song in their ancient, rubied throats
lost to the descending darkness of an unmitigated demise.
Too soon they perished before they felt the rise
of primordial wind beneath their nascent wings.
They instinctively trusted the strength of the bough they breathed upon,
not understanding the power of an oncoming storm -
their parents trapped under turned leaves until it passed
and they could pursue home again.
When they arrived in the emptiness you left behind,
their music was muted by savage fear.
They dared not look for you,
knowing your tiny hearts had become
a long, strange melody they could not hear,
an odd mapping of blood on stones below their eyes.