Reincarnation

Well done, Tequila. A nice formal piece on the loss of love and meaning in poetry. Help has risen from the East in Milosz and others in bringing back poetry to the center of truth. The poet's longing for such a state in the midst of the contemporary scene is understandable. And love is the one value that truth most needs; without it, truth is sterile.

The only difficulty I see in this poem is one of diction; if you consistently use words like "tatterdemalion" and "augury" and such, you place yourself firmly in the language of one hundred years ago. Maybe that's where you want to be, when Yeats was still writing. But I think you could pimp this up into more modern language and get a better reception, should that interest you. Above all avoid inversions, as in: "

I act the hawkshaw, searching for some gold.

In sanctuary's safety I explore,

Insensate, as the trail I trace grows old

and febrile flights of fancy I endure.

Robert Frost dispensed with such inversions, still wrote great formal poetry, and since that time inversions are looked upon as anachronistic. Still, if it works for you, the poet is always king!

Enjoyed,