Tendrils

Parting’s sad. Thoughts of celestial cords
invade my solitude. Spring absorbs
my thoughts like a dry sponge. They flounder,
am I a lonely poet immersed in wonder?

I cannot think of anything unsounder
that I may by gentle force encounter.
Love’s tendrils wind their way around my heart
to build on solid ground a world apart.

His woodsy name is Patrick. Spring is not
my friend today; it casts a garish spell
on all my dreams; it counterpoises Camelot.
Patrick, how I wonder what you are? Please tell
me how to plough a lonely furrow; please quell
my thirst. Spring, give my life a sense of plot.