08/25: quay’s corner

Ellen Roche
Aug 26, 2017 · 1 min read

This night I rode you to the top of morn

exactly, sun green-blue above the cranes.

You latched me hard to your own rise, adorned

with hands of ages, mountain ranges, wane

of everything but what you are and will

yourself to be. Come twilight, come to bare

your knees and make your vows, for ill

and for the best of days, you will not spare

yourself to spare yourself the waning day —

come morning, come as you will, let us be.

We fracture as gold spears into the lee

of the quay’s corner, rubric of the sea.

Come, you must, for come you will to us now;

you guide the wayward home and wake the plough.

)
Ellen Roche

Written by

I’m writing a sonnet every day in 2018. Poetry / Portraits / Women’s History / Film Photography / Brand Strategy /Vintage Dresses / DC ellencroche.com

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