Let me be honest and true.
I am alone, and still madly in love with you.
No one can define poetry,
But I think it is love and honesty,
And from that, follows a truth, which can be said—
—The truest that lives in any head—
Where all the secrets lie
In a vast, ghostly landscape,
Who come out to play in dreams
And so poetry only seems
To be about seeming,
But really it is about truth that is dreaming
About what honesty can do.
I am alone, and still madly in love with you.
