Cefn Caves

The cave,
in which I find
- on the thick silted floor -
the small body of a rodent,
is still.

Long gone
is the fire
of the Neanderthal,
a dim patch of ashen dirt and
bone dust.

The dead
And ghostly shells,
Petrified in limestone,
Still whisper the long receded
Ocean.

May Day 2010

The leaves of the Beech unravel
before a darkening nimbus cloud,
while I scratch at marble with my
meagre pen, read blind, for meaning,
like an ill-lit fumble for light switch.