Mrs Calloway’s Reviews > [(The Collected Poems of Dylan Thomas)] [ By (author) Dylan Thomas, Edited by John Goodby ] [October, 2014] > Status Update

Our boat is made to rise
By waves which grow again
Their own melodious height,
Into the rainbow’s shy embrace.
We shiver uncomplainingly,
And taste up on our lips, this minute,
The emerald caress,
And breath on breath of indigo.

We sail a boat upon the path,
Paddle with leaves
Down an ecstatic line of light,
Watching, not too aware
To make our senses take too much,
The unrolled waves
So starred with gravel,
The living vessels of the garden
Drifting in easy time;

Rain cuts the place we tread,
The sparkling fountain for us
With no fountain boy but me
To balance on my palms
The water from a street of clouds.

I have divided
Sense into sight and trust.
The certain is a fable.

Purpose is gone;
I tried to hold, but can’t,
Compress, inflate, grow old,
With all the tackle of my certain magic
Stone hard to lift.

A cross of legs
That Christ was never nailed upon,
A sea of breasts,
A thousand sailing thighs.

I build a tower and I pull it down;
The flying bird’s a feather,
Has no flesh or bone,
Carried by any wind to anywhere.

Go as my wish;
Then I shall go,
But in the light of going
Minutes are mine
I could devote to other things.
Stop has no minutes, but I go or die.

24 with blood to let my love flow in

It is a sour notion in the blood