Friday, February 22, 2013

Old Books

                                                                         The Echo of What Remains Collected Poems of Wanda Lea Brayton

Moonlight moans across tragic flesh
as I hold this still-warm cup, 
drained of memory.

I do not dare discern the meanings 
within these tattered leaves that remain.

Bent fingers hold ancient pages loosely
as I read of shadowed dreams 
unshuttered by fierce wind.

There are no words for this wild woe
unsheltering me from your gaze.