Crawned by dawn
- Noémie Valcauda
- Jul 1
- 1 min read
He came riding fast, a shadow in gold,
a herald of omens, a promise foretold.
With lips full of cinders, hands cold as the fates,
he spoke me in verses, he sealed me in gates.
Lost to the night, crowned by the dawn.
Not bound by shadows, not singing his song.
He wrapped me in linen, white as a pyre,
sang me to silence, unstrung my lyre.
He tasted of laurel, of blood and of brine,
he said, bend for me, and the stars will align.
Lost to the night, crowned by the dawn.
Not bound by shadows, not singing his song.
He built me a temple of ivory and bone,
wrote out my prayers in a language unknown.
I drank from his chalice, I swallowed the spell,
he swore it was heaven— it smelled like the Styx.
Lost to the night, crowned by the dawn.
Not bound by shadows, not singing his song.
I washed him away in the flood and the flame,
stripped off his sigil, forgot my own name.
I walked through the embers; I ran through the flood—
and the wind called me back to the sound of my blood.
Lost to the night, crowned by the dawn.
Not bound by shadows, not singing his song.
(c) Noémie Valcauda - photo & poetry
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