Monday, August 26, 2013

Wild Wings

The Echo of What Remains Collected Poems of Wanda Lea Brayton

If you come back as a tree, I shall return as a bird
so I may serenade you with my song.
If you come back as a stone, I shall return as a curious child,
to tuck you into my pocket
and marvel at your many colors.

Wild wings have we, whirring over this stretched canvas
of life. Woeful whispers cause us to pause, mid-air.
Deep crevasses have we, gathering sediments of sorrow,
erupting from within to spill gestated seeds.
Chaotic currents surge beneath these casual bones, 
a wisdom that is not entirely our own to claim or clamor.