by Sarah Edwards
(golden like clichés)
impose themselves against the air,
emperors of the dying night.
I suck in air
with the desperation of a child in the sea,
while dawn quickens around me.
By the banks of cut-glass lakes
Autumn sleeps while Winter wakes.
(one two three
one two three
repetitive but flawed,
awkward in the morning,
where all else gleams
Sarah Edwards is a student, tutor, coach, and tour guide. She’s originally from a very small town, and now lives in a larger one. She writes in her spare time, when she has any. She really does spend a lot of time in boats at dawn.