never let me lose the marvel

  of your statue-like eyes, or t

  tary rose of your breath

  places on my c night.

  i am afraid of being, on this shore,

  a brancrunk, and regret

  is having no flower, pulp, or clay

  for the worm of my despair.

  if you are my reasure,

  if you are my cross, my dampened pain,

  if i am a dog, and you alone my master,

  never let me lose w i have gained,

  and ado the branches of your river

  ranged autumn.