light is sparse this morning
so let it come slowly,
a sifting upwards
of gold, diffuse
through wind-bent trees
let morning be hesitant –
with time, nothing
will be left out in darkness
© Sarah Whiteley
My newest chapbook Wandering Wonderful is now available for pre-order from Finishing Line Press. Pre-orders through March 22nd will have an opportunity to win a canvas print of the cover art. Click for details!
almost like night,
eyes closed,
outside,
crusted snow
protests beneath
some dog’s feet
I admit it’s possible
the sun hasn’t
reached me yet
© Sarah Whiteley
craving stars, I crept
down the crouching hallway,
disturbing only moths
seeking their own small
allowance of light
trees sleep, lowering
their limbs by fractions
as the day subsides,
leaving only the incremental
gestures of slumber
I have had to explain often
the peculiar edicts of insomnia,
and how it does no good
to seek why in the high
corners of the night
how it is better then
to slip into ready shoes,
and out into the expectant dark
where pivot the city’s
token of stars
© Sarah Whiteley
and the pain was a hook she had swallowed – a bright, relentless sun which burned beneath her heart without the relief that ash would bring –
and the heat rising up from her throat carried with it the most fervent prayer for darkness that the sky had yet heard – so frightening that the moon hid herself within her shadow
oh take, take was the plea, but the pain could only give, as was its nature
it isn’t so much
that the days
are tiring
as it is the light
is struggling
to stay
as earth is urged
to darker arms
and the calm
of slow hibernation
how wondrous it is
that light should find
a fragile respite
in fiery leaves
as if the trees too
would stoke it brighter
for just those few
more days
© Sarah Whiteley
Perhaps a bit early for this, but I’m in an autumn sort of mood lately. The light is shifting and I’m already feeling a shortening in the days.
Normally this time of year, I would announce that Ebbtide is on hold until I’ve made it to the far side of the tax deadlines that hit us at the office in September and October. This year I’ve decided to wait and see. And if I am able to find the time and space to write – to find a quiet moment in which to lose myself a little in beauty – then all the better for me.
I love you devastating
the darkest between
the driftest of seas
the pause in your
sleep-breathing
and your fingers curled
in upon themselves
as you’ve curled
in upon me
© Sarah Whiteley
when the world stops listening
when people cease to see
the lines of living
in their tidal flow
when eyes are no longer
drawn to gaze at the sky
in awe of the bright decay
of long-dead stars
when fingers no longer trace
a slow-dawning line of verse
when words are dust
and poet’s tongues fail
to illumine the lost
then
then
is when
the dark has won
© Sarah Whiteley
ebbtide 