Beneath

The Echo of What Remains Collected Poems of Wanda Lea Brayton

In the autumn of my existence,

I waited, watching as colors streamed silently,

far from an elusive horizon,

the urgent edges of a madding crowd.

In the winter of my darkest woe,

I became immobilized by fire's deep, siren voice

as a lone, fetal sculpture burrowed instinctively.

In the spring of my thawing,

a trickle led towards an infinite ocean,

quietly spilling its song.

In the summer of my surrender,

I would lie naked under stars and dream

of mere roses that never bloomed,

ancient, unborn sorrows rising, instead, 

from fallow soil.