What magic man makes
Much of this tender heart-light
Touch the edge of me
Do you, as I, daily perform an unending juggling act with the hours, grasping at fleeting minutes, feeling, by sundown, famished for time?
Who of us doesn’t wish to artfully turn the wretched clock into origami art that would sit silent and still on the wall and evidence beauty instead of lack?
Were it possible, I would wave my surely magic arms, and weave into the moments a stop gate, then take eternity to tell you, thank you, you were right, and I love you.
I have a secret
A magic switch I might flip
And you have one, too
Say something here and now to my writer’s eyes and heart. Tell me something mystical or bizarre about yourself. Share anything that will be cathartic for you, or will blow my mind. Enlighten me.
Post your own most favorite photo or other personal work of art.
Write a short story here, and I’ll collaborate and finish it with you.
Or, finish mine:
“Oh, how entirely good it is to be this aged age, having had all the conversations with all the different girls and women who I have been throughout these years! I know who I am, I know what I want, and I know what I am unwilling to do to achieve it. The beautiful mystery that remains is this: What magic-like means are out there in the world that I may take in order to manifest what I want?”
Oh my! The joy!
Speedily offering Heaven
Overflowing, miring, then jamming
Some other highway
May you have magic
This happiest Saturday
You never gave up
You do not cower
And you believe in magic
For ever after
No need any more
Wishing, or worse
A third arm
Ambient days and nights every time
Perfect Puerto Rican coffee
Porch swings that don’t creak
A squirrel who’ll stay long after lunchtime
Open eyes forbid this
But I still break for magic