Andy Murray
Ynys Mon
A vast, star-sprayed night
and a sombre ocean
diminishes us
in their dark entirety.
Druidic ghosts,
in the destruction of their sacred groves
linger lost in rocky coves.
Sharp teeth - a granite snarl,
snap at our unsteady tread.
A salivary film
breaks our nerve,
and we fall back yellow
upon the seeming surety of sand.
Straining against the blackness.
Reaching out to worlds
on the edge of forever.
To lights burning
beyond sky and foam.
Page(s) 16
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