In between

Mild and meddlesome  
The lark of my wares  
Idles wholly in trinkets and medallions  
 
The lark of my pocket  
Lining the depths  
With feathers in drape  
 
The lark of my ocean  
Cresting the waves  
With desperate emotion  
 
The lark of my mind  
Whittles totems from twigs  
Tempting to rise  
from all that is nesting  
 
The lark of my conscience  
Flits from fluid to stone  
Settling each perch with intricacy  
 
The lark of my skin  
Clad of courtesy in waiting  
Prickly in the onset  
 
Cold and folded over  
The lark that once was  
Rests lowly in concern  
in that place in between