The Echo of What Remains Collected Poems of Wanda Lea Brayton
Even now, after so many years of being
gathered within this flesh,
I am provoked into astonishment
when my throat releases a sudden song.
Head tilted, eyes look askance
at the tentative warbling sounds,
a bird confounded in flight
at the unwary discovery of wings.
Whose music is this?
I ask with a casual glance behind me,
uncertain of the origin. From where does it come
and where is it going?
Tomorrow will never arrive,
for it is out of anyone’s reach
as the rain falls slowly from an unrelenting sky -
I am subdued within the unframed edges
of this quiet symphony.
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