A Potion for Illness

 

A drop of dew from this leaf above

one splinter of bark, the stain of soil,

that scratch from sharp twigs, the scent of rain

I’ll place them in here and wait.

 

A mucus trail, a yellow petal

(but only a dandelion will do),

the glide of a fly, the droop of leaves

I’ll place them in here and wait.

 

Somewhere over there is a shattered snail shell

the scuttle of spider’s legs,

the lift of a tree, the twist of roots

and lust from young love on this trunk.

 

A print of tiny footsteps, the wipe of their tears

silk dreams from a gentle breeze,

the echo of a shout, the belief of webs

I’ll place them in here and wait.

 

It will soon rise, a smoky plume

my pot full of charms and cures.

I will use it now, send it to you

and watch your illness shiver.