My best friend is my neighbour’s dog

because he knows what I mean
when I say I feel like digging,
or I wish I had wings,
or woof.

At night he barks because he’s sad,
and his eyes won’t cry.
I turn on the kitchen light
to make him feel less alone.

And when he escapes the garden he sprints
like there will never again be anything
worth regretting
if we just run
for the rest of our lives,
and I like to join him.

But he will stay
if I ask him to stay,

and we will sit long into winter
wondering what it must be like
to know exactly what we should say
to each other.

– Inspired by the dogs next door. It’s a little different to the sort of poetry I usually write so, sorry if it’s awful!

I’m glad I have known you

like this,
your hair curling up
behind the shoreline.

Walking the length
of your limbs
I stretch into the sea,
muscles tensed as hills.

I soften these fingers across buildings
and your skin
as it scatters with the waves

where the sand knows my prints.
It holds my body like birdsong
soft at six in the morning,
the pier dreaming in ships.

I am steeped in you,
as you are in the breath of everyone I know—
on the edge of something,
an almost sentence,
a tiny pebble of a poem

thrown out
into the ocean
and carried back to us one day.

– This poem was published in the 2014 Poetry and Short Fiction Anthology Make Time For Aberystwyth


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