Reflections Of Caernarvon


i shall die yearning

a hand
reaching out to
a face that isn’t there

a face
seeking a hand

a stone
leaving its mountain-
wall in a wind
anxious to be a bird

a bird
crying to be a wall

north wales

the goat pisses
the hawk hangs
the mountain leans forward out of the mist

on this hill

between the stone wind
and the wall of stones
i am a hollow
scooped out by the sun
my substance dropped
over the wall – another
loosened boulder
a plaything for grass

the present sits in
my mouth for shelter
till the sun leans on his spade
the grass throttles the clock
around me

the stone cottage flies away
the wall leaps downhill
the wind is a mountain
the sun becomes gold ore
timelessness deflates me

look mother
i have found a fossil
here are the marks
of its hands and feet
it must be millions of years old

my eyes are caves down to the sea

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