
FEET FALL FREE
for Jamie & Andrew
We set off in pursuit
of Guto Nyth Bran -
not the streets of Aberpennar
and the Nos Galan race
and rain tipping down
like old farmers with sticks -
but a steady walking pace.
The sun popping its head
from out of the mist
now and again, losing
our sense of direction
despite a map, except one
with his third dimension ;
compass in his dizzy head.
Conifers too dark, no lift of wings
and reservoir where all's contained;
warning of a house and dogs loose.
Water running rapidly barefoot
down narrow forest paths :
I hear his feet fall free
at Pistyll Goleu's liquid light.