In The Heart Of Nowhere

On certain days I need tea turned rancid
cinnamon sticks at my bedside
flavoured anise seeds to chew

when you stick pins into my heart
needles as fine as a crow’s feet
silver hatchwork in the dark woods.

Fold finely ground pepper in a paper
dip edges of the paper in jasmine oil:
a fine unguent for a heartache;

spill over the polished stone by the river
supplications of milk and honey
that leave watermarks:

a filigree of illusion against light
that like crab in sand disappears
into the dark heart of nowhere.

Day 28
Poetic Asides

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