World in peril
under the lead
night sky: we stare at

the nose of a bullet
aimed up
and viewed from within  —

each of us one grain of powder
ready to ignite
and push it toward its target —

each of us wondering
what blow will create
the moment of ignition —

and how can we know
which of us will be the first
to set it all off?

We were created
to vanish
in that moment of propulsion.

Everything we do
before that
is just waiting:

potential in a chamber,
knowing what will crumple and fall
when The Day comes.