Rivercraft tie to trees.
The air is edged by swamp,
slurred with want.
Lime sap exudes from leaves,
sticky, smelly stains on the boardwalk,
traps grit and muck,
grabs the soles of the congregation,
the faithful who to and fro church Dewi Sant –
transgressions stacked on parallax –
baked, washed, recycled.
As always, hope, like a phantom,
glides from deep into the light sky.