...

He entered with sun laden hair, this creature, a god perhaps from a distant mythology to change mine. He entered like a golden spear of the golden sun piercing the bark of my skin to reveal a warm softness, once familiar. And I strained my eyes to defend myself against this luminous happening to take it slowly step by step. Light by light. And this constriction etched on my pale face, this tremor on my ageing stillness, he understood it as contemplation contemplating surrender. Although it was cumbersome, this alien light in my anesthetic dark, his charm was such that I was a moth given wings whose flight is meaningful only when death is certain in the scorching blindness of a flame. He entered with his stories to fill the hollow of my solitude to reveal my indigence concealed in the dark. He lived by me borrowing my sceptre, ruling the vacuous longing of my beings. He walked about lifting grains of sand, long settled, and when he wished plunged into the stillness of my lake that had not know a ripple since I can remember And with his body, sculpted with an old man's hands and years, he raised storms from its depths.

But upon the third waning of the moon, the great silver bird roared in the heavens beckoning his return. And he left. How could I, a creature of the dark, love the light? And yet I did, allowing him to enter the mouth of my cave, allowing him to plunder my quiet.

And now even solitude is unfamiliar.

In the depths of the lake, he came to give birth to a monster that now surfaces from the waters in search of its father. It escapes into the light, but it is a monster. Its home is in the dark with me. And so, the creatures of light will hunt him down and I shall be in mourning.