For T
In winter rain for the walk
on embankments dressed,
commingled and knew,
shallowed breath and conversation.
Cold and warm the darkness came,
pillowed steam of hob flame.
Woollen heavy, fragranced with spice.
Gave way to petrichor.
The Curragower Sonorous
and we danced from the vine
On the slip in limerence,
illicit and supine.
But in our harbour sheltered
and this before the glow,
Hiraeth I know you,
you call to me from then.
– Anonymous
