I Thought Myself a Poet

The place where my lungs sustain me
Is hollow;
Air collapses in my empty core.
Two dark wings and the things that scare me
Battle out in a full-fledged war.
I thought myself a poet
Or perhaps a mystery;
I saw myself excite the senses,
Part the hungry, frothing sea;
Breathe my life into a statue,
Draw the homesick swallow home,
Part the rain and the mist from nature
Rule them-
Claim them for my own.
I discovered, in my youngest days,
Without joy, the heart cannot exist.
And dismay rained down, as I revelled in truth:
I must be broken to be fixed.