Above Bronygarth

Along the ridge
beyond the viaduct and castle
the ancient path breaks. I fall
into your green hold
below the sound-line of traffic and fields
and wait. Sky is small,
a blue flag. I berth
in the warm boat of your silence,
cupped in the smile you've sent
downstream.

You were always here
turning travellers into pilgrims.

Outside
the country twists its miles
long-distance. I'll wrestle with maps
and stiles, head for the new, fast road

but not here
not in this green church.



Janine Pinion

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