poem: these wanting few

if I were blue
as I frequently am,
dawn of a remnant wind,
pregnant ocean rump
in my lungs, son
of estuary,
orphaned, lost,
found, this stew
a miserable
sequestration,
an amber
gift to the vagrant night.
she asked after you,
found wanting
desire most blessed, these
wanting few,
wanting less
wanting the last note
down the line:
a single digit,
plea to gather
the blue you
carry, the blue
you mine,
the blue that begs
the question
in each & every
wine.