Maeni Hirion, Penmaenmawr

Would you come here on days of winter, cold
like this, crossing the haunch of Tal y Fan
from the shade of your valley
to watch the sky burn itself to sleep—
or was this only ever a place for dead people?

I count tonight the nights, like stars in millions
between us, imagining how you took your turn to turn
eyes closed, thrice three within the stones
hoping perhaps for warmth, some ease
a peace from endless fighting

all the usual things people wish for down the years—
an honest, less self-serving chieftain.

Published in Christmas / Winter, Volume 3, Black Bough Poetry, 2022