From whence the meal is next to come
and pass into our hunger
with all that will or won’t be done

in justice to our wonder
such burning of the emptiness
a weakness growing stronger

as sanctity or faithlessness
returns our wounded flailing
for what has built this empty nest

with dignity in failing
below the soaring flight of loss
our broken wings are trailing

though never born to bear the cost
of what is wrought from anger
the temper hammered from the dross

shall bruise the heel no longer
and what is gone shall count as won
from out our careless wander

for what is done has now begun
to cast the queue asunder

for all that will or won't be done
shall pass into our hunger

poetically meaningful and configuratively innovative

I've read somewhere this configuration is called the terzanelle form,
(although mine is modified.)

Amazing to read -- your words flow like no other. Excellent.

misty..