I had been a polar explorer in my youth 
and spent countless days and nights freezing 
in one blank place and then another. Eventually, 
I quit my travels and stayed at home, 
and there grew within me a sudden excess of desire, 
as if a brilliant stream of light of the sort one sees 
within a diamond were passing through me. 
I filled page after page with visions of what I had witnessed— 
groaning seas of pack ice, giant glaciers, and the windswept white 
of icebergs. Then, with nothing more to say, I stopped
and turned my sights on what was near. Almost at once, 
a man wearing a dark coat and broad-brimmed hat 
appeared under the trees in front of my house. 
The way he stared straight ahead and stood, 
not shifting his weight, letting his arms hang down 
at his side, made me think that I knew him. 
But when I raised my hand to say hello, 
he took a step back, turned away, and started to fade 
as longing fades until nothing is left of it.