You're not floating around the constellations.
You're knee-deep in cold, dank mud.
The walls around you peel
and the clock's batteries have died.
In a minute there is time
to do nothing but wait.
I'm a fly in the space between your skull and your brain.
I'm that tickling feeling and that restless irritant.
The grass around you grows
and you begin to lose your sight.
In a minute there is time
to decide whether to take a bite
and spit me out
or let me lay my eggs.
You were born at midnight between two years,
as the moon reflected the world opposite.
In a minute there is time
to create a division between two entities.
In a minute there is time
to change what would be into what is.