The Walker

A world passed around the clock.
In a few hours, dawn.
Shadows, on an old photograph,
Of the clouds moving far out at sea.
Underneath, a silhouette.
Precision in the wave,
The hand, delicate,
Greets or parts.
Neither the will, nor the heart, falters.
The eyes do not flinch, as blue as the moon sometimes is.
The friendship, pugnacious.
The solitude, remanded.


Time means nothing to him,
Nor does sleep,
Nor does vigil.
Existence lies in the possibilities.
No limit but that of the mind,
No thought but that which becomes action -
The dreamer walks untiringly,
Usque ad finem.