(In memoriam, G.W.)
He waded shadows,
The compass of a night
Lacking stars and moon.
He yearned for the fathoms
Of pure nothingness,
The calm of oblivion.
Imperatives moved him, Magnetic as water,
Urgent as breath,
The flotsam of motive
Unfurling, coldly,
Tides of intention:
Gave up his store
Of secret pain,
Lucid as thought.
Gulls, debris, wind.
Complex hauntings,
The water gently luminous.