Faceless, you arrive. Breathless from your journey--through mountains and pain, across sorrow, a sea--you arrive. It is evening and the moon stands watch, beautiful and indifferent.
Underneath the bower of violet wisteria, I stand in silence, listening to your footsteps. Heavy, at first, then lighter, and lighter. The echoes of night fade upward, to the stars. I hold my breath--let nothing disrupt the sound of your arrival--and look toward your direction. Light, my love, so much light there is.
Faceless, you have arrived. I become Psyche, with neither lamp, nor doubts.
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