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.