The Midnight Knock - The Autumns

Dreams

Of ships bent in

Their bowsprits cringed

And drawn like skin

Taut across their skeletons

I’m lashed to you

Like Turner on the mast and sail

Spat and cursed the frothing gale

A fool’s fleet lost is no loss

While I row

Long sleep whispers like snow

To the sea

Tossed till I’m lost

While I row

Long sleep whispers like snow

Dreams

Of ships bent in

Their bowsprits cringed and drawn