ENews January 3, 2025

Where You Wrote
Dylan Thomas in Wales
 
At the edge of town
I cross a cobbled bridge
over the mossy creek
where water threads
between stones
and carries your voice.
 
Following the long quay
where gulls linger
as fishermen cast long rods
into the green sea.
 
Keeping to the gravel path
whose curve reveals a broad view
across the lapping water
before turning up into trees.
 
At the top of the hill
the little boathouse rests quietly
green with an off-centered door.
 
Inside, your dusty tweed jacket is draped
over the chair pushed back from the desk
scattered with papers you left as if gone
for a short stroll.
 
I peer out the windows
at your view of the bay
and white dotted slopes of distant farmland.
 
Here the ritual of sea, boats,
and herons called your name
and white tips of perennial waves
spoke of youth and aging and, always,
of coming change.
 
All that pulled you back time and again
to this place that harbored the universe.
 
                      – Jacqueline Davey

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