Be brave! Be brave!
I hear the cry
call sharply through
the enveloping mist;

every evening the fog settles
down atop this sleepy town.

'Though temptation bleeds
from every fractured brick!

In this mist I feel
invisible; a sprite, a specter --
an evening wisp diffusing
down streets and alleys.

The darkened smudge of
another average man.
He walks by, equally ephemeral,
and dissolves again into the haze.

So it has been until now,
even without the fog.
They always pass by,
fading again into the haze.

Although the sea may take no pity
on a stranded boat, do not give up hope!

The fog is my sea, and frosted
grays my gradient to infinity.
Vacant echoes answer my calls:
"How are you?"

Okay. I'm always okay.

Then listless lapses into silence.
I wonder if passion died with God.

If it has, you're the one who killed it.

Formless voices fill the air,
murmurs with pangs of guilt.
Growing and growing,
the dissonance turns to consonance:

Silly child, it's all in your head.*

The streets are no longer familiar,
my own hands now seem foreign.
I hasten to catch up to another soul;
someone living to help me find the ground.

Only my footsteps sound in the night.
No one else is awake at this hour.
Insomnia, alone, takes these walks with me.
All the while commenting on my folly

and the white, beckoning infinity.