by Byron Beynon
The door sounds
the same as it closes
behind us, and for a moment
our steps are simple and quiet,
as uprooted shadows
recede across the front.
We are leaving this place
for the last time.
It is autumn,
the radio is turned on
at this hour for the news.
Outside the bay
continues to draw the eye,
a sharing of tides
with the air carried aloft
touching the names of stars.
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I enjoyed this, Byron: the early simplicity modified by the alarming "uprooted shadows" and then that later movement from the bay (Swansea?) right up to the stars. The completeness of the picture.
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