In memoriam Dylan Thomas
I in my intricate image, stride on two levels,
Well refined. With only one regret:
That I dont stride on more.
The first, the essence of myself:
Like a tortoise in its shell,
Dwelling in itself; with one exception.
Ducking my head back inside
I see the world in the colour of blue.
The other, a seldom appraised affection:
Giving in to rythmn like a drum,
Exulting in the pureness of words
Like nothing could disturb my joy.
I tell those secrets of mine
Only to the winds.