Conversations (IV) — to Dylan Thomas

Conversations (IV) — to Dylan Thomas

It’s because I love my love can’t be cut
Like a river by rocks, bent branches swift

Over stone misshapen or promises broken
On swerve. Because I love I love this soul alone

And am given immunity against the foamy drift,
And the heart’s wheel’s rims to resist the rut,

The charter to tax all the pennies of loss,
The unplanted ghost come off the cross.

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