Sunrise and mist over the estuary
Mist rises
For Dylan Thomas
Echoing, tramping, crashing in Dylan’s footsteps
His words scoring rhythm tracks in my mind
The lovers, arm in arm still clutch the grief of ages
Their digital images capture the scene yet lose the truth
That’s sound and wind and rain and thought
Sunlight skitters and slides across the estuary
Invading the bay and stretching fingers through grey cloud to green, rich turf
The spirit of inspiration flies
Blue grey writing shed perched on cliff, hovers neither at base nor peak
His shoes remain as unfilled as his jacket
Casually slung over the cheap wooden chair
Papers screwed and crumpled under the desk,
Overlooking
The mudflat
A dreamscape of ruts and swirls
Chaotic motion
A new puzzle revealed rhythmically by tidal meanderings
His words a challenge to life, to death, to beauty
A dare
A warning?
Sounds
Curlew and catcher, jackdaw and crow
The owl’s fluttering warble softening the howl of the wind
Do not go gently into this good night
Do not retreat like the water which daily acquiesces to the moon’s command
Forge a new path
Fight and rage
Against the dying of the light
Lizbeth Wilson: October 26th 2011
The view from Dylan's Writing Shed
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