RS Thomas (again)
unwrapping still his rapture’s source
what finger pressed upon that gift’s bow
his unsteady path
his handrail the only comfort
on ascension’s dark stairs
for he has looked down
for us
has abridged the black chasm
for us
carrying us on his bent shoulders
into the bleak wind that blows
through his light’s word
braille
braille rain
hanging in d r o p s on life’s line
for now
when
even the trout stream has gone
and no
no amount of a beautiful past
can compensate
this composite of memories
of childhood suns and moons
through the varying openings
of a window’s breadth
no
even the webs are brailled
with the bodies of flies
dust in the corners eyed
failing insight
into the true meaning of demise
when the sun burns it all away
and the lids shrivel
for no rain is
why we jaw jaw
my mind is a ouija board that writes poetry
for me
it is suspended in a universe of words each one a star forming an infinite number of galaxies
each one named poem
the poet the reader
binary stars rotating
at the speed of wonder
that no asked question
can hope to pin in
a cosy algorithm
soon maybe
it looks like now is the time
the planets are in alignment
war stalks the shadows
spotlights are confused
blinded by the mirrors
they have turned away
strike now is the rumour
and so they will
maybe
