Maker

I wanted you to see things as I saw them,
  but led you into fields that blushed with flowers
  which had no names, with birds that had no song
  and sat like stone. You followed close behind
  until the darkness gathered and my back
  was swallowed up in gloom; then you were lost.
I looked for ways to find you, turned around
  and called through shadows with a thousand words
  that vainly flickered out like taper flames,
  come-hithered to the shapes I thought were you
  with that same finger that had pointed out
  the shimmering vistas we would never get to.
I failed you so completely, left you stranded
  at weedy cross-roads, or on broken stairs
  that wound about on strange and blasted hills,
  at gates that rattled but were sealed forever;
  and there you heard the faintest sounds, strained thin
  through wind and distance, or stopped listening