It’s perfect nonsense to suggest that, whether venal or mortal,
It would announce itself with fanfare and hullabaloo,
All but taking out a three-column ad in the trades
To trumpet its arrival.
Its métier has always been the dimly-lit corner,
The whispered admonition, 
The ****** room in a somewhat undesirable neighborhood,
And while it is certain that it accompanied us
As we emerged, still scaly and seaweed strewn, from the sea, 
It did so on a light unsullied by moonlight, 
Surfacing silently with the least desirable of piscine attributes in tow.