in Fishguard days
I found an alphabet box
and with pink fingers, fitted a T-shape
into a T-shaped hole;
the sun hinted diamonds and squares.
there was a road
tight with blackberries that went on forever
—too small to look at the sky. there was a breakfast
which I was always outside.
now the hour drops back in
pentangled and fat. Fishguard, holidays,
the only place that made them smile together,
before they learned to shape holes
where no words fitted.