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Click hereThe Gulf of Morning
___________________
She washes her feet
in the cold green Gulf
of morning.
The image hews a brine-rose, mused
ablack sea-wine hued headstone.
There, a lone red ray hoards
a bolt of shifting canvas –
where silt has settled in sand-glass corners;
where webs of threaded-light gild locks;
where wave beats the barnacle wall -
the ageless oracle scries, and scrawls
a name estranged to hope.
Beneath her feet, the Blue.
She washes them from memory
that sweeps her pale steps on.
Beyond the shadow-rock, beyond Shëol,
gleams She in the setting-sun's gown.
Now sailing through this hollowed moon
I swoon and part the stars of June,
and dream she washes still.
you didnt loseme on this one, but there seems to be an awful lot of hyphens :D
good work, you took me there and thats all one can ask from a poem
maria