Always something up the sleeve.
Magic fingers chisel a cold breath
and a disgruntled wind cries deep.
What's empty is full
and slight hands
mix nimble swings
and make rabbits into slippers.
What disappears right
smiles on the left.
Magic is no lie.
Magic is truth we cannot see.
Truth we do not know.
No obstacle but our own assumptions.
Trust a magician to make beautiful
His assumed folly.
To right what mistakes
and injustices He seems to spin.
All will be righted
through love shaped gloves
and a dear departed sightline.
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