I cannot say that the dark was the dark.
Was an eye in itself that couldn’t stop
seeing. Was the pupil of an eye itself wide
and terrible. I can say that it was nothing

like light. I can say it was nothing like
nothing. And then a thin beam of it
from his hands. How I couldn’t even
recognize light. How it seemed like nothing

I should ever know. Or like wrong. Or like
trembling. The beam led itself over the pool
and then they were there, the muscles in their pale
bodies visible. Their bodies weren’t even

bodies. They were light itself, or seeing
light. He said they had adapted. He said all
creatures do. There in the dark that wasn’t
even dark they pulsed and shimmered, they

pushed their bodies against the water
that pushed against their bodies. They didn’t open
their eyes because they had no eyes. There
was the darkness and their bodies, and

looking was not looking. There was my body
and it was standing and looking. And not
looking. And then there was my mind and it
was thinking. How lucky, it told me. How lucky.



Emma Bolden



red fractal