The Echo of What Remains Collected Poems of Wanda Lea Brayton
Inside this darkling night
of slumberless dreams descending,
hyacinth wings fold around me.
Shivers ache, each agony crevassed by lost dreams;
I lack nourishment and guidance
within this pale realm of origamic solitude.
The moon is sheathed, shudders beneath fog
that permeates bitter intentions —
I utter prayers for the fallen,
beg solace from murmured moments of respite —
immersed in this infinite solitude,
aloft, away from the hearth I once knew so well.