Oct/Nov 2003 • Poetry |
st. david's bones
the smoking chill and the misty bogs
bittersweet the county dogs
the mossy bricks and an etching face
thumb-labored ale and a fireplaceseven-hundred years and a murder of crows
and a box full of saint david's bonesa woolen cap atop a chestnut hill
the gentle green, the mustard sill
dune and wind below a cotton ridge
along tea-bag rails on a wooden bridgeseven-hundred years and a murder of crows
and a box full of saint david's bonesthe gnashing sea against the creamery bay
the farmhouse stone, payne's country grey
a molding verse in lamentation slate
below castle cliffs inside of christian gatesseven-hundred years and a murder of crows
and a box full of saint david's bonesand it's a saturday week and it's a saturday dusk
and it's all full of misted valley tales
and it's a saturday train full of saturday wine
and it's saturday's sundown in wales