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the tide rises, the tide falls | an oceanic literary magazine
The darkness hangs more thickly,
drapes black silence where
low night-time voices should move
the wood-knotted air,
breathless on the water,
an emptied lung,
the soft gasp of moon’s sway
taunt its aching hull,
the curtained eyes shut tight
against its loss.
This poem contains some special formatting. Go here to see it:
A BBC-commissioned poet, Charlotte lives by the sea in Yorkshire, England, and has poems recently published/forthcoming in Daily Drunk, Spelt, Ice Floe Press, One Hand Clapping, Neuro Logical, Spelt, Poetry&Covid and Dream Catcher.
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