Llantwit Major

From Llantwit Major to the sea
two chapels crouch
by a small confectioner
Some ladies at their craft

Tree bones, lichen clothed
embroidered golden green
Rosehip ageing
Voices of the first lambs

Impetuous the rill
last moments unbearable
prepared for its beloved
waves ache searching

Shelved by the second draft
a shore prototype abandoned
for material less precious
and the easier to shape

Gold silver platinum plates
no magazine sea colours
No flats to fly kites
run dogs, peddle ices

Treasured in stone memory
those fled and left in trust
a spiral husk turned to stare
at faults that were seabed soft

Blind sun bundled in cloud
on barges lumbering
Gulls in slow volleys
on old smuggler hives

Coves of gold crumble
on bright stone orbs
on gilt edged flags
some great game deserted

A little one in hand, a man
exploring more for her
writes her name out loud
with letters big in sand

One looks from all pools
vacant but for her
Other things grew feet and wings
fledging out of bounds

Then alone that one with One
has bucked the desolate crowds
for silent union
in these more tangible voids

Sumangali Morhall

                            March 2005