Used to knowing where the road ended,
Where it always had, the unfamiliar calls
Did not gather like warnings, but a signal
Opening out what sight might achieve.
The road sloped inevitably to the edge of land,
The view obscured by the heaped amusements
Of it’s busy pier, at first, then the corner turned-
The breakthrough of light like surfacing from water.
Equal with colleagues in a ring
I sit on each calm evening,
Enchanted as the flowers
The opening light draws out of hiding
From leaves with all its dove-like pleading
Its logic and its powers.
From a bench in dedication, Aberystwyth Castle.
I came here then: November,
Or in a light which translates morning
Slowly into visibility; the received walks
Patiently toward the receiver.
The seat anchored me with the weight of another’s habit;
I carried my instruments everywhere and a response
Insisted, not explicit like diagnosis,
But to unearth the fragment left for revival.
Each of their links were close as the phrase
Demanded, so unbroken the idea
Of one cannot surface without the other,
Each a continued resonance, the answering beat;
Hearing it alone I mapped its indication
Of an acheived centre, from where both
Had set out into whatever comes next, leaving their names
Malleable, an inscription to grant them permanence.
And then we came together, certain I could
Match them, or inherit a likeness,
The sheet-metal sea was fixed in our outlook
While the rain perfected you.
The weather breaks, an expected unsettledness
Entering its consistency, and the rain is urgent;
Represented in a material sense, my effects are gathered,
All signs that this room once conceded to an ownership,
Now ordered, so that they might be understood.
The bareness of its surfaces grows striking,
Reclaiming themselves from scattered objects,
Their soft imprints lifted, and the space assumes
Its automatic self, which is ultimately forgetful;
Separated from it, we consider what has been left behind:
From the dimensions of the same bed, with a sense
Of something minutely displaced, the detail is glimpsed as if
Through glass or water, proving the language correct
Which translates nostalgia as pain, in the continuity of things,
It began, and ends here, with rain.
Disintegrating into the communal soil,
The dirt grasps the hand’s understanding,
And it becomes simpler to conceive how
We may all have begun this way;
Components of an organism contributing,
With the neutrality unthinking objects
Achieve, becoming something recognisable,
Prepared for definition-
Functioning with the drive which takes us
Through the caught exhale of a current point,
Stages in the falling away of roads and time,
Leading always to here, and what we have retained,
Built by methods of chance and imprecision,
Mirroring particles colliding,
In uncalculated space,
Which, in their unity, produce light.