A Morning More or Less Like This One

No way of knowing where we went on those long journeys
Just guessing your way ahead
I keep walking as if something ought to happen
Which is as much as any of us can do
In this grey land of lost time
Somewhere between nowhere and what might be someplace perhaps
Where everything that ever happened is eerily still happening
Where sequence is trapped in creation,
Before possible things converge
The improbable world
Held there a moment in a man's cold mouth
The edge of our loneliness

Sometimes there was a whiteness as of snow that obscured everything
Another silence within silence
Time speeds and slows moves in the altering shapes of stillness
And what happens next?
When time divides into before and after
And witness give brief testimony then move on elsewhere into a morning more or less like this one

I am an intruder here on someone else's grief
Let me be quite forgotten
And make a continual whisper
Until no returning is ever possible and time closes over