The claw that centipedes across my floor I don’t know it grieves me much anymore aware it makes its slow approach eyelids shut give no reprieve still I know it trails by the binding music of its nails so I just sit consigned to see it drawing closer to find me in its clutch sometimes I feel I’m within reach within its touch to end me in ways such and such the claw was there when I was born across the room small as my own infant hand the day its lifelong march began its sole ambition greeting me its handshake heretofore agreed