thee pan pipes resonate down from clay bluffs into welsh ocean swell

ebbing and flowing porth niegwl,

finding places and spaces near the selkies bath, salty breathe in medicine

beating skin songs ov thee primordial cow, on drums ov a journeyman

a joyful sound is shared, abreast the gorse nested with black bees

sleep comes the night with the leather winged, and owles crone

thatched and sheltered, a ten of moons

 octopi of blue swell in salt caves, and waves break on barnacled stone

a cold hug of the irish sea, surrounding the flesh cage

herding myself into voids of air, voids of black

telling myself I need to come back, to earthsands

a black brewed coffee, a lonely firestead

a few words to dull the melancholy of the night

in my own company, the way I used to, the way I’m used to…

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