I move across a silence

  that seems to be

  the empty plane of oblivion-

  a land whose primal languors

  afflict the will,

  whose fallen light and dream-horizoned sky

  proffer the world's faltering memories.

  I hear a voice that sings

  some old-world song,

  magical and clear

  or catch a glimmer

  of a fox darting into the darkness,

  A silence,

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  moving in moonlit saraband.

  A voice that only I can hear

  that sings to me,

  and now I must muse

  on passions that unfold,

  and the ghosts that dwell

  on the other side of the sea,

  weeping in the night

  as they call to me.

  Yet I cannot leave this place,

  as I stare down

  at my own lifeless eyes,

  wondering, wondering

  whatever became

  of the man I was before.