Day 3. Camino

Holy Odda’s day
The chapel hidden through
Centuries of wet and blood

Stones standing thick and
Bold as yews defiant of the
Floods and deaths grown into

Their roots. What Odda was,
At the edge of the darkness,
The first houses for god

He built in the darkness of faith,
So little have we learned from
The light it gave, is it fading?

Grandparents, Reunited.

She had bright
Red papier mâché,
He, a thick oak.  

Between funerals,
The years, brittle,
Wan, now mingled
With the best ones –  

Dusty joy,
Shared; striding, touching,
Swimming through the wind.