I come to you from that dark spot in your vision that you get from looking directly at the sun.
I live there, in that dark spot, and wait for you to invite me out.
You don't look at the sun as much as you used to. These days, you observe the phases of the moon and tell stories about how the stars led you back home, once.
Laid out under a black sky, comfortable beside black water
She is nuzzled in the bend of your neck. She fits perfectly.
It kills me.
You kill me.
I kill time.
I stare at the sun.
John Bauer, Lithograph 9 (1916)