You live within its winnowing circle.
“a dead baby in my cough”
“a vaulting pole crushed within my spine”
“scalding bits of broken glass inside my knee”
“electric shocks delivered with a branding iron”
“incompatible with having a self”
“like nothing you could imagine”
You take medicine apart and find its wings,
hidden under the carapace thorax. You can
no longer imagine being devastated by death.