The Echo of What Remains Collected Poems of Wanda Lea Brayton
First, there were tulips drenched in somber shades of lavender -
not dirges, but hymns.
He wandered into her field of morose darknesses
carrying moonstruck moments and songs of stars.
She held out her hand, accepting his tithes of laughter
as her new religion, lacking in hypocrisy
and pompous displays of needfulness.
Second, he swathed shadows from her room
with fire, unwanted remnants from her distant past
which cluttered spaces where she might breathe.
She solemnly inhaled the first free air she’d known in years,
smiling slightly at his theatrical gestures of gallantry
Third, he gathered her hair between his trembling fingers,
inhaling its meadowed fragrances, deep with loam
and decried its absence from his slumber.
She was startled by his propensity for declaration
and merely leaned forward
for a single kiss, a lifetime
brutal in its beauty.