THE LAST MANSION

In the last mansion there is love like tomorrow made of wings
and i serenade the impossible with a torrent of absolutes
foraging for an angle in a complete circle-
where a swarm of joy has perched in my oblivion
stunting the growth of ill winds
like a focused diaspora 
unfickle as i join the happy few
teeming with arrangements 
that love can kiss
  
and hate expire