This is the moment when
The iridescent bubbles stop everything
I climb the opportunity of the cupola
The thirsty hour the long walk up

Imagine            Forget

To visit me there





The merchandise is waiting
By the edge of the water,
Blue and brown verticals of wood
Murmuring the motor in its mud.





Into a hole with a stick
At a pace to be still

Of thyme and oregano
Till the stars kick up

Disappear on a mere
Like the little streets

Humbled with the deeps
There, from the chief

Square you enter suddenly
The donkey stares into





The glazed grief manifest
Hocks their tiny weights
Or the clay lame with ebony
Reeking of legs clasped round

Invisible presences
Or pale to run with like
Memories he wants to tame
The yellow grass of the plain

Or galloping tenderness
Bearing down a stone
Or two in the deep shade
The coal eyes of the trees.





[John Goodby lectures at the University of Swansea. He is the author of The Poetry of Dylan Thomas: Under the Spelling Wall (2013), and edited the Collected Poems of Dylan Thomas (2014). Mine arch never marble (Argotist Online) and The No Breath (Red Ceilings Press) are forthcoming in 2017, as is the anthology The Edge of Necessary: Welsh Innovative Poetry 1966-2016 (Aquifer Press, with Lyndon Davies).]

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