I shuffled restless, cluttered thinking,
When a breeze-like finger
jabs my shoulder, makes me
turn and notice, floating
little specks with honey
bursting out in white light.
“I wonder where the comb is,
where the bees go at night.”
Silly! Busy! Don’t you see
the diaphanous spice?
Smell it. Lean into the tinder.
Shut your eyes and feel the
cloves and black tea and ginger.
Etema 
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