The Echo of What Remains Collected Poems of Wanda Lea Brayton
There comes a thawing when burgeoning seeds burst,
tethering roots to dark soil, ascending into ungathered blooms,
their perfume scenting night air, soothing sleep when it finally comes
from a weary counting of stars.
The moon swells, pregnant with contemplations of mercy;
it commands tides to surge and writhe their beautiful ballet
beneath its shadow-struck surface,
easing, then erasing shores of ancient memories.
Sudden tithes of laughter arise,
burrowed beneath bent, aching bones, calls them to dance
unabated by storms, never heeding dense droplets
which cling to freshly-dewed hair, swirls of sheer joyousness
for breathing, for being here to witness this wild, unkempt rapture,
slow silk unraveled by a beloved's distant gaze.
The fragrance of bread unrolls from the oven in waves,
promises of sustenance, of ravenous hunger's deep, empty spaces
becoming filled with delicious comfort, with simplicity's tender touch.
Blankets quilted by legacy's hands, origami pieces unfolding
into caring thoughts combined, to soothe the arrival of dreams
with stitches of truth, burled and bundled beneath
the inevitable onset of winter's wrath,
of striding forth into restless, yearning spring.