Old-fashioned Happiness

My will will

 bend to make room

for

     You.

     Your arms have interfered with my resistance. 

                                       Tired

              And

                    Diminishing,

                          my

Art still takes Your form.  Lend me your  Eyes.  Fill me with Your wish, Your

Poetry. 

Wash me.  I’m sick of striving in this wildwood.  Your voice,

When

                      At last I hear it, silken milk and honey…soul warming articulation.

Give to me, that old-fashioned happiness that once, I knew.  Away, I’m uncompleted. 

                 Every

Intention breaks, my drunken heart,

    Thirsting and misguided.  If I

                      Need the desert,

                                 Then carry me there, the

                                           Comradeship to satiate.  The impossibility

                                               Of Your ways absolve me of my sin-

Guide my steps, closer, closer. Take me home where secrets of the palace belong to me and crystal contemplations  lead to virtue.  Chaste in union, your coloring-the design,

Without

                                                                                                   Which, I have not the

                                                                                                        Health for this.

The Sunday Whirl