magicSometimes, we have to lie facedown on a cloudy beach
with the howl of waves behind us and the whip-crack of the wind
electrifying our hair for everything to stop moving. Sometimes, a peach
can heal an entire winter, birth our joy from its tart, fuzzy skin.
Sometimes, it takes a cryptic message from a hazy dream to coax forth
the first inklings of instruction. Sometimes, the pigeon feather we pluck
from a street thick with parking restrictions, tells us the risk is worth
it, freedom as close as we want it to be. I think it’s not so much that luck
is elusive, or fortune fleeting, but that the signs are subtler, absent the largesse
we’re poised for. A magic lives beside us always, good and real and effortless.