Zakoor

I be Zakoor the bard I be

and Crowman kind of comes

to see
clad in his cloak

i call him “Noir”

apparently, he acts the star

in my opera on a hill

where mountain spirits

embolden still

a crazy world below the  sky

where lots of different winged Gods  fly

Dolgellau  ancient town of old

where suddenly tornadoes rolled

Their jet engines split the sky

the poet tells them

which is why

“Noir”  comes by, his ebony

cloak and eyes appeal to me