IN VAIN

  by Bates Corlieu

In vain waiting the return
of your original intent
the shine you buffed me
the door so flung
I hope you make it back before
winter’s platitudes
before I slam, I nail, against
howl and splinter
near, nearer, against
shrinkage of my holographic haven
(in every leaf! in every spider’s eye!)
What end? Whose good?
Come spend the last few nickels	
of your constant running
on all these lavender evenings,
my fire thorn, my pyracantha,
come spend them in my perfect milkweed
pod
with me