"Mum became housebound so it was my job to go out into the world and bring it back in buckets and words.
I've always gone prospecting upstream.
In primary school I'd say goodbye to my mates outside the Greyhound pub and pretend that the dog on the sign jumped down and came with me.
Forty years later, our lurcher brought her home.
In seconds she settled into the space we made by getting rid of the cooker and had us round her dew-claw.
She was perfect, but as with most fairy stories there was a catch - she had a poorly heart. So we made the most of three and a half years of arrow alertness and much stroking of sinuous shoulders.
Now we have Woody and Tango - shadows from Swansea racetrack.
The info we had about Woody was, 'He loves his comforts.' In other homes distress had made him eat them.
So best ever is seeing him shed fears and start to play.
Always keen to explore, greyhounds are ideal accessories to poetry. They silently hunt squirrels whilst I hunt images. They teach me stealth and sharp sensing.
We immerse ourselves in our surroundings, let things filter. Watch ideas fly. Spend hours watching re-runs on dream-drives.
There's no fussing or fawning with hounds. They please themselves.
I'm inspired by their agility and affection, poise and grace, ingenuity and integrity.
I want to emulate their clear, loping lines."