The Echo of What Remains Collected Poems of Wanda Lea Brayton
My heart is like the Bermuda Triangle -
an intrepid area
where unknowable things disappear,
slip into oblivion to be forgotten, never recalled
by a single moment's mention.
They do not return wearing vintage clothing,
a confused look dwelling within their glazed eyes.
They cannot float on the surface,
adhering to flotsam of memory.
They descend into the deep dark,
unable to retrieve the significance
they once held so dear.
No one goes there anymore;
the word is out.
They merely steer around, dead reckoning at its finest,
forsaking smooth sailing
for the slim chance of finding port.