Sweetest dearest, I not in idleness have lain upon earth flowers

 

Untouched by unsteady hands whose nature’s unknown, although secrecy is manifest.

 

Thy name only dwelt to resonate across silent waves of sheer emptiness.

 

Forgetfulness is now time’s past being-past of present’s mien,

 

And my thoughts seek thee not in thought, but in thought-like dreams

 

Of self-coloured images long gone and washed away.