under the book-light

I wonder where I've left my skin, after haing looked down and seen the gnarled bend in my finger. It didn't hurt a bit, but the shock of discovery, the confusion shook me to the point at which I dropped my book and kept the light, pulling and pressing the little gash and wondering what the blood cells thought and where they were and how they looked. I wonder what edge of massive, cornered furniture clings to my remains and if I'll ever see that part of me again. But certainly that little unnecessary part of me is gone and dead, and I still live and wonder.