Through an early spell of fog
Daylight spills
Yielding, its affection
For the cold drab ground

For all
But the faintest of travelers
Disheveled, indisposed and far

Through and through
In spite of the failing shadows
He remains the free-falling wreck

A slow-crumbling shard
Exiled
From the binds
Of his former skin

He lives on
Left bowered and muttering
Beyond the reach
Of a warm wind’s swell