Boats at Dawn

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,
and gasping
while dawn quickens around me.

By the banks of cut-glass lakes
Autumn sleeps while Winter wakes.

Rhythmic movement
(one two three
              one two three
repetitive but flawed,
awkward in the morning,
where all else gleams
and rests.


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.