a poetic lullaby

Poem-Envy Lullaby

1. 
   In the flicker of my midnight lamp I mumble the holy triad—
   last line, first line, title—polishing edges until they sting.
   My opening coughs like reeds offbeat, and my title still hovers,
   a ghost I can’t yet name, waiting for its echo.

2. 
   I crack open Vuong, Clifton, Limón—comets blazing by,
   their lines too precise for my stumbling pen to spy.
   I envy dew at dawn that dies with perfect sigh,
   while my verses dribble half-formed, and I wonder why.

3. 
   I taste the Orchard’s Lament on my tongue—petals hesitant as brides—
   and dream of guiding you in a coded waltz named Anderson MXX.
   But my feet trip on shards of unspoken vows,
   my lamb-soft promises turning to shadowed drafts.

4. 
   The wind waltzes through golden reeds without a care 
   shouting melodies I can’t quite ensnare 
   I chase its song in fluorescent aisles and ghosted dorms 
   my notebook heavy with envy’s storms. 

5. 
   Still, I write—joyful fool stitching cracks with half-borrowed light—
   hoping one day my last line will land like lightning,
   my first line grip like a held breath,
   and my title finally resonate as my own.
   Poem-Envy Lullaby.

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