I look forward into the great expanse, and

I see nothing. It is dry and it is arid and nothing

grows, not the toughest of  weeds. I walk and

I hear nothing. Only the echoing solitary footsteps I

force onwards. Ghosts and tears have fallen long ago.

All options blur into one: a steamed mirror;

a compass that cannot decide which way is North. So

onwards and forwards into the plane, though blinded and

fearful. For there must be something out there,

something for me.