The finding of Emrys, strapped
to his bed in death, recreated
the day like a lightning-bolt.
We shifted our shopping to one side -
silence being awkward, we muttered
hushed undertones of regret
lamenting a bleak life ended.
Yet he was undeniably risen and free;
the hemmed-in turmoil irresistibly over.
And over, the endless lonely meals
of white bread and chocolate. Now
his manna is broken in darkness or heaven.
We waited in the derelict third-world
destitution of his mud-walled cottage
for policeman and doctor to come -
and Emrys waited too, with the flagrant
unflinching patience of the dead.