He declines to be interviewed.
A glimpse, only,
a side-long breath, let out

too late, swallowed in haste,
not to appear too gullible,
too eager.

He craves the immediate,
catches the last hint of eternity
blazing past, unholy, oblivious,

his heart as blank
as his head.

Above the dingo wind,
a scaffold of melodies,
of harmonious disconsequence.

And here I am, left only with
questions, suggestions, repetitions,
cast a-breeze with no concealment.

The oceans within, the foaming main,
who can sail these dark seas?