MAGIC

I believe in magic,
or I would not be here.
I make magic when I dream,
when I laugh or shed a tear.
Since pure energy pervades me,
floods each molecule and cell,
since its waves are all around me,
ringing like a muted bell,
flowing ever inward, outward, magically unseen,
I must focus on one wavelength.
Thus my senses, sharply keen,
do perceive my bedstead solid,
anchored in a present time,
yet in dreams of past and future
things do rhyme and do not rhyme.
Far away and distant lands
occupy that very place
where my body,
here quite solid,
lies asleep
in innocent
grace.
Magic?
Yes.
I call it magic.
I’m a dream-art scientist
and as such know very well
that neither time
nor space
exist.
But
I
do.
I am magic.