And for a moment, brief though it may be,
they forgot the Night Land, the Silent Ones,
allowed the Northwest Watching Thing to watch
if it would, for this was worth the struggle.
She sought, with fingers no longer soft, and
a body made hard by the world they roamed,
she sought in him a matching hardness, a
physical bond to match their meeting minds.
Uncertain, still, they fumbled their way through
lands as foreign as any they had seen,
led by forgotten ghosts of ages past,
souls' worths of longing their imperfect map.
And when the map proved useless, still they went,
finding in each other heat as sating
as any stolen from the cooling earth,
more fulfilling for being given while
they cried out as one against the darkness.
© Erin Donahoe