Day’s End at Rhosneigr

The old land drew up its duvet;
Cloud cliffs brushed in light rose but seeping color,
Draining to quiet grey. A face
Set by Earth’s mason in impassive upward gaze
To become an eternal watcher of skies.

Gulls cried. Sea swirled sand.
Sounds merged to manage a mutinous mind;
A merciful panacea, anesthesia
To help draw down the blind on life’s debts.
This salve of beauty is but a *****.

Peddling pretense for indulgence,
She gains addled adherents who are mocked by reason.
What is done is not undone by this.
Truth that hides beyond the dune’s shadows,
Emerges with the encroaching nemesis of night..