Clynnog Fawr

Forgive me if for the moment
my mind is not in Gwynedd
but New York’s Grand
Central Terminal – those
1930s monochromes –
shafts of sunlight
scouring the vast hall
as travellers scan timetables
shout for porters to load
their luggage into handcarts
milling to secure seats
aboard unseen waiting trains

Which brings me back to earth
and the lofty emptiness
of St Beuno’s Church – lit only
by green-mizzled niwl
dissolving the offshore horizon –
where once now-empty vaults
burst alive with ghostly jostle
as unnumbered wayfarers
paused in their journeying
for blessed shrift and food
bound on to Ynys Enlli
terminal of twenty thousand saints