I wither slowly in her arms,

Here at the edge of dreams,

An auburn-haired shadow

roaming like a fantasy

through the singing spaces

in the gold-flecked summer shade,

serenaded by sparrows

and lyrebirds echoing

the song of the sea.

No more than a memory,

here in this grave-silent

emptiness.

The spirit passes them by

and even their shadows

fall silent

stunned by her beauty

before resuming

their fading song

as we languish beneath

the dull music of the sun,

and the undulations

of the empty rhythms

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of these vacuous days:

The quiet moments

that exist without love's music

are filled only

with the sighs

of a longing heart.

I turn my face to the west

where a pale light

burned on the horizon.

I wander the

grey strand in search

of hope,

amidst the

The silent spaces,

through far-folded mists,

I tread the pallid sea

in the frail morning light,

hoping that this silence

will shatter with the

quiet song, the gentle rhythms

of a long-forgotten

wondrous melody.

Walk with me,

into the mist

and the stillness

And bask in the quietly fading

moonlit ephemera

of our mortal lives.