Poetry by Cage Williams
Clydach Gorge
barefoot on gravel with imprecision
and pain catapults me into myself
this grey cell of a dwelling
central South Wales
on the edge of the Black Mountains
a cave that’s worked into the rock
not so much down as across
into the hill
twins, as good as raised by wolves
dwell three ducks deep, feel their way
to safety lightless through water
to breathe an air that’s theirs alone
what they would see had they the means to
on those many fingered crag walls
the rich blood-colours of ancient hands
scratches of old runes
but to the two of them
their rock cold world only ever dark
feeling their way together
to chart each the other’s progress