The Echo of What Remains Collected Poems of Wanda Lea Brayton
There is rarely a discernible sound of release,
no whoosh or pop as bodies bend away from each other.
Only silence hears the songs of bones creaking, cracking -
the suction between souls unmistakable
as they separate themselves from awe.
Shuddered hearts, shattering, make no noise -
they only break slowly from beauty's bereft ache,
an unwilling backward glance,
a keening far too quiet to draw attention
to these uttered moans,
these inward wailings.
Still,
there is music rising,
although we shall no longer dance together,
but apart,
wild inside this wavering mist.
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