Where’s Magic?

Into the night I opened
the window and its pathway to the moon.

I sought for a second or two - what I wished
to find was rather hard to define,

its name I cannot spell. There it is,
but what is the word to evoke it?

I opened the window into the night and I looked out.
Climbing up from childhood,

over the soap bubbles, dolls and into the perfume bottles,
I climbed back out holding a bouquet.

Reminiscences from the years passed
were not enough to fill a small trunk.

Using blood and ink to spell me and what I wish for -
words as powerful tools to evoke, but what?

So I kept clambering up over the hours
on the phone and the blush on the cheeks -

the things I could not say to his face
as my heart dripped with juvenile wishes.

The window sill, the night in its stillness,
the moon in the wings - wide eyed, as usual, I presume.

Where’s Magic?

I look out for the Magic before the blue hour.
But like Autumn leaves discarded to unveil the new Season,

Magic can only be found by its riddles.
And as I reached out for the impatient curtains,

having met with the wind that ruffled them feathers,
an empty cage stared me back in the face.

Just like that, it was shown to me -
I no longer had to wait for the night to end,

or for the moon to appear:
With another day on its way,

I knew that whatever was once locked,
has been finally set free.