He is the laugh that leaves no echo,
The thought that fled the open window.
The master of the unfinished game,
Who calls a shadow by its name.

He is the duel with a ticking foe,
A land that only dreamers know.
The native of the in-between,
The never-was, the might-have-been.

He fights not for a crown or throne,
But for the thrill of being alone,
Then changes mind and seeks a crew
Of wide-eyed strays to see him through.

He scorns the hook, the steady hand,
The plotting of a measured land.
His only law is what amuses,
The code that every young heart chooses.

He is the thorn in reason’s side,
The door through which the nightmares glide,
Then, with a crow, he makes them fair—
A breathless hero, laughing there.

A wreath of leaves that never dies,
Yet holds the sorrow of goodbyes.
For in his everlasting Now,
Lurks the unasked and haunting How?

How to keep the faithless flight?
How to hold the fading light?
He is the question, sharp and bright,
That takes its answer to the night.