True Magic, by Christopher Hileman

True Magic
by Christopher Hileman

It all rests on thought
but not my thought and not yours.
All the world jitters
in small round orbits
around millions of black holes
in any seen heart
and unseen dream life
as we utter charms of filled
up sacs and dewlaps
hung pendulous, pale
and damp, hoping charms will work
a true magic soon.
The desperate ones
declare trueheart devotion
and try for lost love.
I hold you even
so, in the face of these things
and all that will come.

Christopher Hileman moved to Oregon in 1973. He has retired to live on the volcanic bluff overlooking Willamette Falls in Oregon City, Oregon. He ascends the stairs from his basement digs to improvise on his Yamaha keyboard or the house Playel grand when the calico cat releases him from below. The part-Irish Wolfhound here likes him.

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