The Thing

You begin with a feeling,
something like a tickle or a twinge
or a persistent pecking
that is largely undefinable,
vague and shapeless,
begging for someone, namely you,
to come along and give it form,
to do something with it,
anything.

Then,
placing it somewhere near the center,
you pace around it,
approaching it
much like a cat would,
and bat it gently about.

You might smell it or taste it
or ask it small questions,
questions like
“Who are you?” or
“What do you want from me?”

It may give you answers ,
but it’s far more likely
that the thing will remain silent
and turn the table,
running circles around you,
waiting for you to feed it
and make a bed for it
and call it your own.

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