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.