version without the Welsh folklore

Under the yellow-green of sunlit beech

between banks of bluebells' hazy blue

where supple crosiers of new fern reach             

over verdant moss still damp with dew

a grassy lane runs beside the river

In the mystic quiet of a leafy dome

of grey bark ash, beech and mighty oak

a far cuckoo calls all walkers home

but we pass u...

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To walk among ruins is to realize the fragility of life

To connect with those who came before

To observe commonalties,

To puzzle at differences

To marvel at ingenuity

To hear their voices echoed in stones that have stood for thousands of years

Inevitably, to misunderstand the message

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Ruins loom, undressed 
in the space between here and then
what life still clings to them 
hangs loose and bellowing

Ruins stand their ground
battered by crosswinds
shifted perspectives, altered light
shadows lengthen and diminish

I tried to be good
did what I could, spinning plates 
painted with faces
of all the friends that came to me

Now there are absences
and there are ruins
...

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