Put on the Sun

Put on the sun, Catrin Sands, your yellow dress
ten winters in darkness
in Geta's wardrobe, the sun that taps to be let out
when the door clicks shut
and its mirror spies, upright in bed, Geta's ghost
inside a twirl of dust
with Enoch's bible, her shotgun, her Cambrian News.

All the terrace windows
turn gold when you wear it, the summer has begun.
Put on the sun
Catrin Sands, let's walk behind our shadows
on the promenade of sighs.

from The Glass Aisle (see Books page)
Click here for song version