On a hill at Carcemish which is in Mesapotamia, which is
Between-the-Rivers, we dug up the bones and artifacts of ancient strangers,
You and your donkey lugging back buckets of water back and forth
over many thousands of years, while I made notes about absolutely everything,
and wrote long letters home. You watered the mules and camels and nothing was
ever too pretty or tiresome that you couldn't make mad and silly fun of it;
everything admired you. The animals admired you because you had a splendid
disregard for man not even they could achieve, and a dark and secret love
that only they could achieve. When it was too hot we swam, and then the river
released us and found its way back home.
They called you Darkness although your skin was fair; I gave you a camera
to explore the darkness that lived behind the light;
You said you would take pictures of the whole world. Water-bearer, you gave
everything and asked nothing in return. We dreamed that one day
the ghosts of your ancestors would arise and tell to us wonderful Hittite secrets; but
we had forgotten that your name also meant the darkness of water before
Creation, and that you would one day drown in the dark water of your own lungs.
I loved you, I believe. It was before the horror.
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