Tuesday, March 5, 2013

Within This Glade

The Echo of What Remains Collected Poems of Wanda Lea Brayton

We forge memories from thicknesses of fog,
sophisticated silences summoned by a fervent plea -
each wilderness, immersed in breath, became an offer of song.

Penitence has breadth none can measure with accuracy,
its significance as yet to be determined by light 
drifting through shadows' fluent realm.

A thousand suns may burn bright through trembling fingers,
murmurs of wings boldly singed as boughs descend, 
anticipating imminent harvest.

Acquiesce unto the white heat remnants of soul's pyre -
striated soil demands gifted seeds be thrown 
beneath its whirled grasp -
its very countenance, changed by wind.

This solstice will not falter, nor fail -
my throat swells with a low moan; 
my voice, a palpable dusk, a quiet river's 
slow currents sifting, seeking each rising tide, 
their cadence synchronized by the arrival of storms.