The Wanderer

Three years accountancy, then walked out
leaving no forwarding address.
Freed from his dull commute, bored happy hours,

he crossed the water. Winter found him
alone in a ruined place, among the nameless bones
of other people’s ancestors. Stark days

brought discipline of mind. The world renounced
he waited for the stillness and the dance.
But years limped by until at last he heard

the heart of silence, with its laughter
rattling among the ribcage of the stars
like glasses clinking in a thousand bars.

Tom Vaughan

If you have any thoughts about this poem, 
Tom Vaughan would be pleased to hear them.