Magic

The night air
Lifts me into its wind like grasp
Imagine lanterns and floating
This is what soft violin sounds like
And windchimes
Can you see the way my hair goes everywhere in the wake of motion?
Wings are not so foreign sometimes
Hands are like that of a balerina’s;

Sometimes I think it’s still real
Sometimes I know it is
Hushed into a whisper
Contain me there
Remember the flashlights and walkytalkie’s
I used to dream of the trees
An owl following me on the leaves

Fire awakens jaggedness at times
And I try not to think of you
The child inside me holds on too tightly
We used to hide under tables often
Mint chocolates, old fashion candle holders, and capes
To be among the mystical
I still wait in wonder