(recordando uma frase: «Don't be preposterous!...») Not from this anger, anticlimax after Refusal struck her loin and the lame flower Bent like a beast to lap the singular floods In a land strapped by hunger Shall she receive a bellyful of weeds And bear those tendril hands I touch across The agonized, two seas. Behind my head a square of sky sags over The circular smile tossed from lover to lover And the golden ball spins out of the skies; Not from this anger after Refusal struck like a bell under water Shall her smile breed that mouth, behind the mirror, That burns along my eyes. Dylan Thomas