Immune to the craving

gray of fog, hate, uttered

in the eaves, day

long, kept you near. We

knew that sun

had wormed through the shuttered panes

in drunkenness

only. We knew a deeper void

was being

built by the gulls who scavenged

their own cries. We knew that they

knew the landfall

was mirage.

And was waiting,

from the first hour

I had come to you. My skin,

shuddering in the light.

The light, shattering at my touch.