I wait for a poetic sounding line

I wait for a poetic sounding line;
A nimble phrase, perhaps a touch obscure.
Could be a complex Poundian design,
Or else a simple Frostian contour.

I wait and wait, but nothing comes to mind.
Could it be I have nothing left to write?
In desperation I attempt to find
Anything that will end this poetic plight.

I search the Cantos hoping for a spark
Of inspiration. It's a fruitless quest.
To North of Boston do I then embark,
But finding nothing must stop for a rest.

Sometimes it doesn't help to be direct.
The lines often come when you least expect.