Sifting

Confining, as the night does cry and spirit sifts unto the sky to his abode in wandering, as why I seek his space to fill with my new wandering, but of course, comply this filling destiny, sift's try! Where can my spirit sift, but only mound without a claim to so abound I sift, but to a memory of one whose care is found in his fond grace, or sift unto another place. my thought but bound, to some small hope's impound. Then sifting not, I so resound with worry that some choosing's hound does anchor while my spirit downed does see thee not around and to my spirit, memory and sound do sift away my Holy bound to thee ~ I sift the shadows, but to see thy love's beginning, not empty ~ . . . sifting, for the sight of thee!