It is not that the nights
are too long, nor that I am
unsettled by the thought of the blank paper,
but the room is stacked high
with words and measured shelves
cover the walls.
Outside a silhouette
in a trespassed forest
walks the sleeping hours
nodding in agreement
that it was a good day,
and eternity’s not easily come by.
On Cefn Bryn
A running spine with fits of open colours,
the clean patterns of lights and slopes
with their silent beauties.
The name carried by the knowing wind
launched from the sea
towards the sun
setting beyond the dolmen.
The coming night
knocking softly on fields and a communal stone,
with a landscape’s porous nerves stretched
across the flawed depth of time.
Byron Beynon lives in Wales. His work has appeared in several publications including London Magazine, The Independent (UK), Poetry Wales, Planet (UK) and Chicago Poetry Review. His most recent collection is Nocturne in Blue (Lapwing Publications, Belfast).