Tuesday, April 2, 2013

The Rendering (Inspired by Neruda)

The Echo of What Remains Collected Poems of Wanda Lea Brayton

She wore a chatoyant veil draped in mourning, 
knelt bowed and broken by the sympathetic stream; 
her tears flowed toward an ocean 
she could not see, could only imagine 
as a vast whirlpool of infinity where dreams were lost.

Summer grasped Autumn's swift hand 
as they fled these dormant fields,
the browning glen where swallows once sweetly trilled; 
now, only crisp silence swells.

There were pearls hanging from otherwise-barren boughs,
reminiscences of leaves and their consoling raptures.

I watched from a distance, youthful and unknowing - 
the depths of emotion swayed me in my tracks, 
brought upon me a dizziness, 
an indiscernible swoon my inevitable beneath-the-sky-twirling 
had not delivered before that moment.

There was a keening on the wind, reverberations 
of flutes and mandolins crept from ancient times, surrounding me 
as I fell to the earth, eyes filled with sudden, unexpected tears.

Poetry had found me in the gloaming of dusk, 
laughing wildly, burst open and glistening like ripened fruit, 
ready for the insolent consummation of flames.