Disclaimer: I'm not Neil Gaiman.


He is the color of fog and mist and mystery

Pale as a diamond's blood

Distant as the mourning star

Colder than glass or snowflakes

He whispers

And the wind whispers with him

He walks

And the mirror breaks beneath

But like a holy man suspended

Or the spider in its nest

Dream takes that space where waking

Isn't really waking

So his journey begins

Within you