The gods sent you wrapped in 
pomegranate leaves
I wrote your location on the back of a breeze
but I lost it
 
(nothing happens)
 
in the graves, once sore remnants
hold their breath
it rains, collects on my brow
and floods the vision

cut this polythene bag in my head
drain the water down the sink hole
frantically sorting waste from recycling
get the house in order before the guests arrive

every dip into the purple, silk bag
pulls out a thorn

you’ll remove it if it hasn’t dislodged
a promise written.