Thanks for long nights and the glare of stars. Praise for dim hopes in dark places, and for hungers that devour themselves.  The fastness of the desert is a bounty, and the lushness of ruin the promise of new life. In this place I have seen you, and perhaps you might see me as well, as a faint shape among stones and shadows.  We are joined in silence, even as we are separated by distance and time.

Even the darkness here is a sight to see.  The visions that arise in the small hours drive us forward in ways that no whip or goad ever could.  She commands me, as she does you.  The masks may change. Maybe she's in black, set with bright stones.  Maybe it's silver this year, a living mirror with which we distort ourselves. Her skin might be marble, and in a feverish season it might be fire.  You may hear wings. Old bones live again, whispering secrets too tender for flesh. Luminous beneath illusion, the door opens, and something comes in. Distant music rises, carrying us forward against entropy and the spirit of the age. If this land is familiar, it is because we have been here before, spilling water in defiance of the wasteland and laughing at the lies.  To create is to wear a secret crown, forged of wind and set with starlight.

We are bound together, even as we travel in solitude.  I am grateful for your company, and the spark you leave behind.