Branwen's starling

by Meirion Jordan


Branwen's starling

There are days

when the stare's wings open

in a babble of tongues

 

and you hear women, princes,

courtiers talking

through the same page.

 

And some nights, when the dead

men are springing

from the cauldron of your mind

 

you cling to the stone of words,

handle each pebble like the ruins

of Bendigeudfran:

 

then morning

is a distant shore, and the heart

flutters in its fist of ribs;

 

fly, bird. Bring me a giant

or brother wading in

over the noise of the rain,

 

over the white beach and the sound.

© Meirion Jordan