Symbiote

That ever-present,
un-nameable weight

settled on your chest,
beating like a heart —

sparrow-wing light,
boa constrictor heavy.

You feel it, sometimes,
wrapping itself

around a moment,
fluttering, coiling.

Other times,
you transcend, forget,

only to return later
as if it were

doors and windows,
a roof, a home.

Now and then
it rears: beak and fang

of panic you tumble
into, reminding

it won't let go
until you die.