Wednesday, June 26, 2013

Surge




The Echo of What Remains Collected Poems of Wanda Lea Brayton







I shall gather your words as alms
for the bereft, use them as beacons to rise 
from heavy fog where sea swerves wildly, 
drifting with echoes of shells it once knew intimately
and remembers now with alacrity and affection.

Sand will set course, leaning toward soil,
planting its seeds, its flags of many nations,
its hearts of various hues - such splendor will lift
new buds toward warmth and delight the sky with song.

There are wings aloft,
if only we uncover our eyes
to see their innocence shimmering,
wise beneath these quiet folds of dusk.