The eking of song

When determent is arguably passive
               When the heat of giving is lost
To the argumentative gong of mischief
               The petulant argumentative gong
There is then the slow effulgence of a
               River's wilful undulating, its ardor
Somehow wilted over, its lust for light
               Somehow tilted towards shadow
And the meandering lullabies of night
               Caressing the soul of its flow, the
Doubtful artifice of articulated hunger.