The Echo of What Remains Collected Poems of Wanda Lea Brayton
There is butterﬂy dust descending everywhere -
it is tangled in my hair, my ears,
my eyes, the creases of my mouth
it covers everything with its glistening shimmer,
memories of ﬂight resplendent with subtle rapture.
The heart's cautious creations of memories
hasten wildly their melancholic ministrations,
their radiant ridicule of rejection
responding without knowledge;
sorrow slides slowly underneath your skin,
its savagery sustained.
Time holds no gradual gift of meaning
when one is grieving, unkempt grace
shining beneath shadows;
tenacious within ferocious fog,
fragile with ﬁngers trembling, trying to grasp the silent air.
I keep your touch tethered to the darkness
of my anguished song as these bitter storms rage,
shivering ﬂesh and bones suddenly, secretly buoyant with bravado.
The delicate whispers of history
are almost too beautiful to bear -
they murmur magma with their forgotten wings,
wild with their fragile ﬂuttering.
Without a sound, you stole this silence.
Your eyes retrieved my dreams from the abyss,
laughing as they shattered into numerous shards of light,
kaleidoscopes ascending within the fragrant breath of summers lost.