In Aberteiffi, autumn’s freezing wind
blows russet leaves along the icy street:
the weather, unforgiving, hard, unkind,
unlike the Indian October heat.

So different from the bamboo groves of home
where hornbills gok, we walk along the quay
or stroll on Poppit Sands watching the foam
that crests the cold waves of the Irish sea.

Our warm hands gasp each other as we comb
the seashore– driftwood, seaweed, scattered free
across the beach: we make ourselves a home
along the ozone shore she lives with me.

The Aberteiffi autumn freezing days
are heated by the fusion of our ways.