No Title

Written for the prompt: “Magic is real! Magic is fantastic! Magic is controlled by bureaucrats.”

 

I can make things swoop and fly,

I can tell the stream which way to run,

I can make a new leaf die, and by the by

this is my magic: the fierce orange-red of the setting sun.

 

I am there in that watery space

between the Japanese /r/ and /l/, you’ll find

I lounge about, with you, in your schoolyard daze

You let me alone. You are too kind.

 

The bureaucrats try to get ahold of me!

but slippery ol’ me, I knows

All the ways – the ways to goes,

the ways to hide,

to seek.

 

This too is a kind of magic, quiet,

hidden beneath rulebooks, anonymous suits.

It settles, like dust to home, yours to seek and find.

 

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