It swells around you,
like a living thing,
lifting hairs on limbs,
turning heads to
check behind,
hitching breath and bones.
It slides into a mind,
probes the corners,
and stretches out into repose,
knowing that once
it has entered the
consciousness,
it is very nearly
what it was
made to be:
all-consuming,
paralyzing,
victorious.
It grows
and grows
and grows.
But it only takes
the tiniest light—
the slightest glimmer—
to chase it away,
to reduce its hold,
to beat back the black
so that eyes can see,
so that life can resume,
so that hope flutters feathers.
(Photo by Carolina Pimenta on Unsplash)