Between States

I picked at the wax with my fingernail,

watching it give way from solid

into liquid, then back again as it cooled.

Neither here nor there, arranged

in states I couldn't name.

The smell chemical and faintly sweet—

the kind that makes you aware

you're breathing something

that shouldn't be breathable.

The candle burned unevenly,

one side collapsed, the other still high,

like it was melting in two directions.

I kept picking, kept watching

the transition from solid to soft to solid again.

My fingertip was waxy, translucent, small.

I held it up to the light

and could see through it,

caught between holding on

and letting it all

dissolve into something else.