Lines Written Upon Reading Wordsworth's "Tintern Abbey"

What I can only describe
as heaps and heaps of crap, sprawled,
on the floor, precisely,
where it shouldn’t be:
Last year’s memos;
this year’s forgotten notes;
Letters from before.

And within the debris
the shiny, surviving
trinket thought
long destroyed
beckons.

Lines written beyond the horizon
or on the bridge; or in
the ivy cottage;
to my dear sister, brother, friend:
sincere love, envy, lust for
a dark lady.

And they remind me of things
unlived; dreams undreamt.
I have a home in a Renaissance song,
in a Romantic river.

In the shadows of Tintern Abbey,
I too, see myself.