A south westerly is blowing loose curtains
of rain across the bay like drifts of mist.
The horizon has been long gone, and with it
the silhouettes of fossil fuel platforms
in the Irish Sea off the North Wales coast.
By late afternoon the weather has changed
with the tides. Sun lights the disused works
on the far headland, and the vicissitudes
of Amlwch’s fortunes – copper mines then shipyards.
Large, low clouds pass slowly, elegantly –
like fluffy, misshapen dirigibles.
At dusk, on the easterly horizon,
the platforms’ orange lights gleam. As night falls
the sky clears of cloud, and there is only
blackness, and the untold stars in their pristine,
unlettered disarray.
