Moonlight settles like dew over the sterile room,
A window as its indiscriminate escort
In the shadow a guest- an intruder stands
The moonlight hasn’t noticed yet.

A dryadic [Let there be…] light
stirs from his right palm.
The soft glow is lifted to his face
A siren’s call over those rough features.

A scar here – stubble there,
folds so heavy the light can find no purchase
no escape from their darkness
It’s a wonder he can see anything.

He holds the device level with his eyes
Adjusts his feet and rearranges his face
Some reflection of [Narcissus] horror,
abject pain without panic or retreat.

His arm drops as the light dims,
The poor sailor wasn’t worth the fight,
Moored to a far worse reality as he is
He searches the room for the past.

Careful to avoid the moonlight
Now dancing alone in the center of the room
Less than a day had passed since the boy was removed
But the moon doesn’t need a partner.
The moon dances for its own amusement,
while the sun, the sun dances for the flora.