The Baby

Judging by the light in his eyes he is
between the lines, a veritable lampshade. Why?
he asks, his baby teeth bright.

I do not know. I do not tell him so.
How am I to answer glowing eyes, a baby
mind? I am afraid to be revealed. He

frightens me. I jiggle myself for batteries,
for backup power. I want a torch in hand in
case of sturdy self-defense. I’ve never seen

a baby like this man, kept infantile for centuries,
millennia, by megawatts of desperation
that shine from every corner of the earth, adding

one to another until together their blindness is
blinding. I cannot hear through the light. All I feel
is his baby body pressed against me.