AN INCANTATION TO MAKE AN EMAIL ARRIVESay you are hot water running rills of warmth across my stomach Say this room is earth under a tree this room is bare, aching earth this room is my open palms Say you are a tangerine whose skin falls away like foil or a winter coat Say I expect nothing of you I am not waiting — I’m up to my elbows already in tomorrow — I am not waiting — A CHARM TO REPAIR A BROKEN PHONEThe real trick is to realise that whatever the fault (glass spidered, waterlogged circuitry, sniping texts and friends’ voices slipping to sugary nothing), it resides in you first and foremost. The phone itself is nothing. The phone itself is your clenching heart. In the grey morning — the sky yellow as orangejuice with streetlight light, flu-pallid with dawn — go out into the garden. Dig into mouthmoist loam. You’ll find three egg-shaped stones an arm’s length deep. Place your phone with them and cover it over. Mark the spot. Return on whim one evening in spring before its bulb splits, sprouts.
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