There is a myth
about the sun
happy in her everywhere
her gifts of growth and warmth
of beauty-making light
But someone insults her
(some lover of the dark)
so she flees to the cave
from whence she came
turns her face to the chill, unliving wall
He follows, of course
comfortable in his velvet element
He dries her tears and murmurs
It’s better this way, isn’t it?
See how lovely you are now
that shadows hide
your flaws
your scars
your festering heart
the brassy blast of your quenchless eyes
Now you are sable and panther
You are black water
without moon or stars
bottomless
and safe
Here, in this ever night
in this drip
of secret
and echo
we are the same
This, he whispers, is love
Photo by Karol Smoczynski on Unsplash
