Paint Box: House 1 St Fagan's
blue smoke, red walls, green grass,
a tree still wearing its gauzy evening gown
of lichen - a revealing south, modest north -
but the once-golden thatch
is now a sodden grey,
harbouring spiders, nesting birds and burrowing mice.
Better then to sleep downstairs
cutched away in a box
next to Mam's roaring fire
and the dresser of tin plates
and leave the space beneath the roof
for the waking dream
of a world beyond
mists, hills and trees
through an ochre-crusted eye.