Every time I enter the room,
it’s crawling around the inner perimeter
of the light fixture like a compass,
its iridescent armour always in my periphery.

I wonder if it can climb the incline upwards,
if it knows its name is Sisyphus.

Its teardrop of a midgut
pushing a boulder of lint and dust
around the source of light that it seeks to avoid.
Does the firebrat dream?

It gnawed its way into my dream.
It broke out of the saccharine lamp
and became a real fish,
brilliant-scaled and swimming through air.

Tonight, I will unscrew the light fixture
and liberate it to the great outdoors,
say it’s okay Sisyphus, you don’t have to pretend
to be happy anymore.