Inexorably Drawn To It

Inexorably

drawn to it,

we don’t

know what it is.

We stand

transfixed

in front of it

as if –

through some

emission,

hiss

or fizz –

it will produce

a hint,

at least,

of the beginning

of the end

of its

and our

deliverance.

It won’t

relent.

We sense

intent.

We’ve never

felt so

wanted,

or so hunted.

.