When all of the evils are back in their box,
and those who can have been paired in marriage –
to an ovation from an audience
of boy scouts, elderly innocents,
and coach parties from Rhyl and Wallasey –
we emerge into Theatr Clwyd’s bar.
We watch, in awe, through the long glass window,
a vestigial sunset above Moel Famau –
variegated layers of coral
beneath a looming indigo bank of cloud.
Below – in the darkening river valley
of ribbons of homes, old mine shafts, quarries,
used car dealerships, and the Alyn’s waters
out of sight over glacial stones –
a billow of smoke, snaking round houses
at the edge of Mold and onto the hillside,
is rising white as steam.
Moel FamauMoldRiver AlynTheatr Clwyd