Only one of ten fingers contains a vein that leads straight to the heart

by Christos Polydorou

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It was made
of

redwood.
You could

distill its essence
and change the colour

of a river, and
you’d have my help.

But things are
other than what

they seem,
what gleams

gleams
because it is just a reflecting

satellite,
a mirror

you reach.
But my precious

apex predator
slipped

the redwood ring on
my finger

and then
slipped away,

almost
simultaneously.

True story.
Preceded only

a few years earlier
as I was visiting

my friend
and her dog,

a pinter,
ate the ring

I had no yet
received

in exchange of
my darling

standing there
in her peach

party dress.
Achknowledge

you. Let you
go. Dear

Virginia,
the dogs are loose.

They won’t stop
barking.

Call
Saint Luke.

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