Breuddwyd Macsen Wledic

by Meirion Jordan


Breuddwyd Macsen Wledic

Down the long shaft of the cairn

Macsen rides, out of his titles

and sunlight, grey as the stopped air.

 

It takes him a thousand years. And he,

feeling the still-warm bones

slip through his hands turns

 

to see the sun reaching

its noonday fingers to hold

his skin in its rags, a nothing.

 

Soon he must ride back. Out

of the otherworld's dark he moves,

fumbling; and the land changes.

© Meirion Jordan