The Finding of Emrys

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.

Umbrella Head​