Who are you?
Okay, I confess, I get nosy.
A poet says a couple of bright things, posts a really good poem half-handedly in a workshop and I start pokin' around.
I have something profound to say, but it may take a moment. Want to get a chair?
This has two directions, so hang with me.

First is a poet I have known for a little over a year who has gone from "Tell me again what an iamb is?" to writing what we have together decided is "off the cuff". This is not a technical term. Okay, it's our technical term. It's meaning needs the second direction.
Always do I whine about other poet's punctuation, grammar, use of the classic form... everybody's nodding their heads. But my chief argument is this.

To train the mind to think in a poetic manner, so that when creation comes it is unencumbered by conscious thought on "the poetry". The poet simply writes. The hurt and joy, confusion, whimsy, pain, all the things that are poetry are what concern the poet and the poetry (buzz phrase) "takes care of itself".
"Off the cuff."

The poem's rhyme scheme is a scream, but I'm weird and get excited over odd technical things that are artfully done.
I guess I'm a poetry wonk.
And as a poetry wonk I will tell you also a flaw before I tell you what I loved about the poem.

A poet needs to decide between forms even if they are not using a strict form (see "off the cuff"). You have capitalized the first letter of each line (an archaism that this poet who worships archaisms abhors), while failing to capitalize the third line. It is a typo (if that's what it is) that I would prefer to see become your norm. Line three is an enjambment from line two and "should not" be capitalized. I wouldn't, but you must decide your mode.

As to the poem as a whole... it rocks.
I don't use language like this describing people's poetry. I'm way too... wonky.
It riveted my attention from the beginning and rather stole several seconds from my life (there... that's better).
Again, you must forgive me for poking into your cellar like a mole, but I follow the poet always wherever they would lead.
You new fan, wesley

I find your rhyming scheme a bit different yet consistent. It works. Your language usage is delightful:

Slowly through the dark,
On searching foot
and wondering eye.
Await the call of the morning lark
To loot stars from the sky.

(but I don't understand how a fridgid wind could be sweet on the skin unless one is under the hotest tropic sun at midday.)

mostly great lines all the way and the consistency is there. I very much enjoyed this poem.

always, Cat