You, Shadow Man, You

If walls could talk, they would tell me why I have seen you here, every night, in the corner of the room, at the base of the bed beneath his feet. His toes are covered by sweat-soaked sheets. If walls could talk, they would tell me why I see you there, after we fall asleep to the buzz of mosquitoes and the hum of the generator and the water tip-tapping into a sink somewhere behind layers of paint and, also, behind my head. This head that sees you. The walls would tell me why I gasp awake and find you, there, hovering, like the dark figure they say you are, looming like they say you do. You shadow man.

The walls have heard me, making deals with you...

... take me, not him.

... take him if you must, but do not leave me alone here.

... make a deal with him, too, because he will save me, and I will save him, and maybe that means we can be infinite and transcend this all.

... take us if it means we can transcend this all.

... leave us alone.

... at the very least, leave me alone.

I am so thirsty that my tongue feels like the base of an elephant's foot, wrinkled and sore from griding itself against dry desert dust. It was only a few days ago we were outside with the elephants. Their trunks swayed to the rhythm of their heavy steps, their shadows cast long and rippled against the hot ground. It was hard to imagine that living beings could be so massive, such a heavy presence. I had listened to stories of elephants mourning and weeping for lost members of their tribes. At the time, I had never thought of their feet, dry and cracked. Now, I picture elephant tears falling onto scorched, dry earth, their feet desperately trampling over water that has already been absorbed.

I am thirsty, shadow man, and there is no more clean water. The sound of the sink tip-tapping is torture. My mouth is sore.

The walls have seen this all before.

If walls could talk, they would have prepared me for you, you shadow man. They would have anticipated your arrival and sensed your presence long before I opened my eyes. The walls would have told me that you would hover there, waiting, at the end of the bed, so close to the feet of the man I love.

... take me, not him.

It was only a few days ago, we were outside. There were hogs and zebras and gazelles out there, outside these walls, away from this dark and damp space. The sun pressed down, and it felt warm and inviting, not like you, you shadow man. I see you there in the corner, but I can still feel the sun on my skin.

... take him if you must, but do not leave me alone here.

My mouth is sore.

... make a deal with him, too, because he will save me, and I will save him, and maybe that means we can be infinite and transcend this all.

The walls have seen this all before.

... take us if it means we can transcend this all.

You shadow man, you.

... leave us alone.

If walls could talk, they would tell me why I have seen you here, every night, in the corner of the room, at the base of the bed beneath his feet.

... at the very least, leave me alone.

If walls could talk, they would tell me who you are, shadow man. But I know.

If walls could talk, they would tell me why you are here.

But I know.