Growing Pains

Yesterday I burned
a hole, like a child
with a silver magnifying glass,
so sure of himself,
smoldering wrath into
the exoskeleton of
a six legged insect.
I made room to breathe,
we didn’t need a wall 
to cement thought.

I unhinged ligament from bone,
as heat is to smoke. Malleable
as gold.

There’s no ash 
in the warm burn scar,
no white light.