Nothing was left of me But my right foot And my left shoulder. They lay white as the skein of a spider floating In a field of snow toward a dark building Tilted and stained by wind. Inside the dream, I dreamed on. A parade of old women Sang softly above me, Faint mosquitoes near still water. So I waited, in my corridor. I listened for the sea To call me. I knew that, somewhere outside, the horse Stood saddled, browsing in grass, Waiting for me.