[He sees in the architecture of his mind the quiet house out of which they had made their home in this land, and he sees himself walking through those spaces that just twelve days ago he had shared with his dear companion. Those spaces in which they could openly embrace all that they are. There rises a cold ache in his breast like fog enveloping bare legs in the darkness that clings before dawn.]

That house is not truly our home - those dear shores we left behind long ago, and it has been clear to me for some time that never shall we return. Yet it did take some shape of home in these weeks we have passed here...and I would wish to see the place where last we were together.