Tuesday, May 28, 2013

Within the Garden

The Echo of What Remains Collected Poems of Wanda Lea Brayton

Quietly, I enter your temple - 
you have become my new religion,
provoking prayer, inviting illumination.

Burled branches bend from your sway,
a plea for wing├ęd things to soar.

Buds ripen beneath your gaze
as your mouth offers tender evolutions.

We are smooth shards of glass, fitted neatly, 
our edges melding,
reflecting translucent moments -  
dusk is forgotten now.

The murmuring wind beneath your hands
lifts my skirt slightly 
with the subtle promise of fledglings.

Forests may fall in silence;
still, we rise from folds of their ash,
shuddering with fruition.