A gulf of houses separates me from the ocean
swell that a sun gilded Old College seems to float upon,
Irregular town roofs form the surface of a choppy terracotta sea
which laps the shores of west Wales' Cambrian Galilee.
A rhythm of voices at my stern cackles like gulls
hungry to gorge themselves on freeze-dried chronicles,
Passive listening blends the two languages together at my aft;
the sound of my ancestors calling to me from centuries back?
Saesneg and Gymraeg or English and Welsh
are the languages audible inside or outside of myself,
A litany of literary men await the solid oak door
to be pulled aside; revealing the womb open once more,
To walk along the well worn wooden corridor
toward the embryonic sanctuary of the reading room floor
"Drws ar agor"
If you like my poetry, please encourage me to write more through my Twitter here: @HortonEddison
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