There’s a darkness at the heart of me  Creeping, lucidly, through dutch tulips and paisley, Parsley, sage, and rosemary climbing Windowsills in dirgeless threnody. We are constant, droning, no queens in the hive. There is only the slender shadow of  My outstretched hand Reaching over 2am tile,  Pulled out of proportion, Sticky and sinuous as old rubber bands Lingering on the receipt printer. “Turn your card over”  Ace of Clubs. Page of Cups. Receiving, ever receiving, Glancingly meeting,...