It*
Last night it trembled
Near the flash point,
Fed by wine.
It came from inside out
Then.
This flat, gray morning
It does not flash,
But crawls.
Up through my papery flesh
Like water.
Not large, but loose.
Still deadly.
It knows exactly
Where to lodge.But I am experienced too:
I draw it swiftly out
With one deft motion,
Crush it in my palm.
My fist opens to air.Somewhere out there
It waits,
Waits.
*Unpublished; copyright © 2007.