Friday, March 15, 2013

Incognito



The Echo of What Remains Collected Poems of Wanda Lea Brayton







Sepia strains at restraints delivered by dusk, 
writhing beneath a slow heft of tides
as light fades into a distant dream, 
remembered hues of contentment unsheathed
under a paled moon's fragrant whisper.

Familiarity stirs a contemptuous soup,
its bitter ingredients simmer
only a frail reminiscence of solace 
once known as feast. 

Stained glass wings shattered 
by casual strokes of sunlight
leave shards of color behind in their sad wake, 
decadent, decaying russet shades 
become a mere cleft within burnished soil.

Bored hands drift in somber waves, 
their melancholy, grainy gestures of nonchalance 
unweaving a tapestry of aching jazz as notes waft, forlorn, 
beneath a fierce canopy of night.