Abra Kadabra—it used to be so easy

Breaking a word from the Burning Book

Circling its roots and its branches

Dancing as if Someone is reading

 

Escaping all rules, names, hierarchy

Fate more like a mirror than a map

Gambling on song since our earth is still round

Hell must be full of interesting tales:

 

It’s a comforting thought!

Joke’s on the poor poet who dreams of return

Knitting a yarn for old twice-told silver

Leftover lies from a lifetime of pages

 

Memory now. Their allure and desire

Need mending like old socks full of holes!

Open their reflection to the wind

Pay attention to the poet’s task

 

Queuing for the last exiled yet excellent question

Raking in loudly the howling of meaning

Sounding out clouds of powerful nouns

The poet’s job is copper-colored description

 

Under years of mold and dirt. Polishing

Verbs growing tall in the Garden

Why, you only have to find the way

Xo. Xo. I loved you too before you wrote

 

Yesterday’s adjectives like abandoned matches

Zooming in, dreaming of a new fire.

 

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