The Magician

For Gary, who I hope is still out there.

It was obvious to even the magician down on his luck,

filling his cup with the beads of glories,

that no fight was worth resolving with words.

His hands trembled from the winds

coming off the ocean, the rattle of change

his one true accompaniment. 

I passed him huffing and puffing,

chewing on our disagreement like cud,

disarmed by the drowning of my senses.

What was I thinking, that the shadow

shivering in the alley was anything

other than a space-bending saint?

I turned back, remembering that

anyone struggling without asking

to be saved is remarkably brave.

The coins vanished, words were 

brusquely exchanged,

and I remained inconsolable,

traveling at night to a distant bench,

filling the fountain with woe.

For where your treasure is,

there will your feet take you also.

I went back, deflated from the weight 

of so many broken words,

and waited for you beneath the canopy

of shimmering light. Lighting up

yet another stick of delicious,

the magician passed me by,

and stopped to ask my name.

His name I still remember,

and the way he asked for a cigarette

struck me as fair, if the going rate

for a cigarette is fleeting company.

His cold hands cupped the flame

before he scowled and,

ignoring the precepts of gratuity,

threw his cigarette on the ground.

I saw him stamp it out.

Then he shifted, 

smiling with his lips sealed tight,

observing the shades of my face.

In a flash he unveiled his teeth,

and the white stick, still unlit,

came tumbling out of his gums.

How I laughed and laughed,

and felt my mercurial cloak

crumbling around me.

What was I thinking,

that the shadow in the alley

was the one needing saving?

You found me
dumbfounded and ecstatic,

and I guess that worked

because when the magician
parted ways and wished us well,

you seemed to almost glow.

That simple sleight of hand,

if only he knew 

how staggering his gift was.

How seriously

we had vexed each other
felt like a poor use of breath.

We gave up gazing into

our distant, telegraphed,
hopefully-not-soon
but certain separation.

Then I held you close

(so long as you were
near me I kept you close),

our cracked cup overflowing.