Light likes to travel at his own speed,
making up stories about kingdoms and good deeds,
unfolding  – eh voila! –
a tiny vulnerable brand-new street café –
then resting for a while on any sesame portal,
or in the vicinity of a closing-down sale,
turning his makeshift face here and there.
How swift and gentle is Light’s hand
inscribing his ten commandments on the air,
how fearless his countenance at dawn,
like an Inuit confronting a wasp for the first time,
how bravely he runs the gauntlet between my heart and yours,
racing towards the moon with an eclipse tucked under his arm.