Tuesday, June 11, 2013

The Folly of Memory

The Echo of What Remains Collected Poems of Wanda Lea Brayton

He turned away from light, toward dusky silence,
unable to digress
any further than he already had.

She paused in confusion
for what might have been lost
inside the turning of leaves.

She thought she'd heard music
caught within his quiet whirlpools;
yet, perhaps it was drowning instead.

Even when we are distant from memories so vibrant,
we can never be sure
of what we thought we knew.

This truth we cradle recklessly
is only speculation.