Idle years

Become hungry chasms

That cannot be filled,

With lovesick rhymes

And weightless dreams

–

A long snowfall of sonnets

Piles high in my basement,

Cradling the bones

Of long exhausted screams

–

Now paradise is sinking,

Now its ships slip away,

Over quieter horizons

As I feed the calling grave

–

Will it ever be enough?

All I feed to the chasms?

As the shipyards brave  

The rushing plunder of the waves