No-revival

I’m worried I’ll drown in the pier of your harbor,

 I watched the slow winter of my window and

You threw it all away when I learned just to fly

To the bizarre isles of your composed endings

I cannot seek another land of your shadow.

Bushels apart you are real for my agonizing pain

You are the willow tree and defeated pasture

Where I scratched the tenderness of dreams,

You’re awakening for the stabbing stillness of

The setting flames of my enduring spirit.

At the unspoken edge of compelling yearning

You taught me to smile at my convivial grave,

When my core was obscure out of panting

You carted me to the fodder of poetry

Where I sucked the immortal compassion.

I accept the flashing actuality of my hymns

They were so dim to linger an intact verve,

 Foolish admirer of your deepest hose but

There is no revival from the castle in the sky.