The Echo of What Remains Collected Poems of Wanda Lea Brayton
I followed the fragrance of wisteria
that led me to your quiet arch
and a white wafting of words ensued between us.
There were no sounds of speech falling
or rising to echo inside somber shadows,
only the rustling of paper passed from eager hand
to trembling hand, the sheen within knowing eyes.
Somehow, we are kindred -
although a century stands between us,
I hone this ache of pen and parchment,
this deep well of language
and its slow whisper beyond the edge of dream.
Somewhere, along this path of strewn wildflowers,
I shall humbly bow as I pass by your silent window
where candles still burn slowly,
a tender wisp of smoke flowing outward
into soft morning light.
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