The Echo of What Remains Collected Poems of Wanda Lea Brayton
Sorrow holds me close inside this empty bed,
submerged under these restless covers -
it will not let me dream beyond its reach,
its jagged edges of nightfall.
We are as intimate as two strangers can be, I suppose -
we rarely speak and never ask too many questions.
We turn from side to side, avoiding each other's eyes
from experience and fear.
Do not weep for me in my predicament -
I would never have known these unbearable depths
without the heights that preceded
this fall from grace.
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