Sunday, July 7, 2013

Wet Tendrils

The Echo of What Remains Collected Poems of Wanda Lea Brayton

I gathered wet tendrils,
separated strands (captured sunlight, you said) -
gold, copper and silver from beneath the soil,
auburn leaves' rustled whispers,
felled wings of dark hue,
gray mist from distant shores.

I combed as quiet ritual shone in your eyes,
unable to resist this fragrant bouquet.