How is it I have lost her touch and know not who I am, and clasp in vain my inner crutch, ‘Behold I am a Man”? Such empty words are too unkind; I know not what they mean. Nor can I find, within my mind the place where light had been. I struggle daily with my name, that once seemed good to me; now in the darkness of my brain what light is there to see? Yet darkness has its rhymes as well and some of these I keep, and some I use that they may tell the visions of my sleep. I had a dream wherein I saw light streaming through an open door, and on its frame, in words of fire, someone had writ my heart’s desire. Forthwith I walked out of a dream; out of my life’s despair. Forthwith I walked into a dream, not knowing why or where. For as I passed that floodlit door I found it was a whore, deceiving all who came, before the darkness fell once more. From dream to dream I passed beyond all memories of light with just the long-dead bones of love to tell me what was right. Each dream in turn leaves me bereft, hoping the next will be, more solid than the one I left, a sure reality. I have not yearned to still my greed. I have not sought the wise. I have not learned that thoughts I heed my life will realise. I know not what my spirit mourns, I hear no serpent’s call, I see no angels in the dawns; I think I've learned it all. How can it be that I’ve forgot the mind that made my heart? How can it be I know her not and think that we’re apart?