MAGIC is the space
Between the actual
And the conceived.
Between placid fact
And the wellspring of thought that is received.
I touch my love’s hair
Yet it is neither hair
Or the sensation of touch,
That beats my heart
And lifts my feet.
It is not just an assembly of hertz
That forges a song
Or strong support
That makes a column.
It is the breaking of that connection
Between reality and feeling;
Of the conservation of feeling.
Where the mind sparks
And lights a flame;
And reality burns bright a moment
With light and meaning.
Magic magnifies and transforms
—and breaks all logic.
A wrenching of normal perspective
That changes your relation to the world
And magnifies it all by the momentum
Of that shift
Where have we hid this magic?
