Needles

Walk through the garden
with hands held

out

from the body, into rain.
Here between the lines
where things grow;
in the curve of thumb
become palm.
My love lines are bisected
by insect scars.
By stings like absent tracks.
The wasps all lay in the verge,
where they died.

Hollow

and clear, behind the stings.

AKL 2005