You asked questions about places: countries and cities lost and found across the globe, and I have no answers. Again, you spoke of health and dancing, animals and fancy shoes, and I simply cannot fathom the depths of your oceans, nor answer your questions, dear - but I am listening. You furrow your brows, and penetrate mine with your eyes - are those questions, too? I know nothing.
In a frenzy, a flurry of effort, you direct me inquiries of people, media, drinks, and the features of the moon, of lunatics and fanatics and events of the news, but what can I tell you of these? You discover me empty.
Sighing, you fall back into your seat, at a loss, for of what worth can he be?
So what can you do?
I'm a magician, petty. I catch butterflies in a finger cage and, gently blowing on their wings, transform them into rainbows; I pick a rose from your hair and lay it beneath your feet, gingerly, with utmost care; I sing to the storm and it walks on knees of lightning across the country, blowing its lugubrious horn; I carry hearts across deserts, and where no water is found, I shed my own to share; I seize the wind by its hair, and send whispers along its length; I walk the edge of the world, balancing on the edge and dream, leaping over the rim into the sea of stars; I crave the power of wheat and see the scimitar sweep of the moon in my sleep; I leap the lilies of life alone, but you may come along, if you please; I hide the feather of the phoenix behind my ear, and it warms me there, and upon it I may wish anything; I can change the shape of the clouds, and make every carpet fly; I disappear, I'm smoke and mirrors, there's nothing dearer than a night at the ankles of trees, falling asleep to the breeze beneath the celestial winks of stars.
Can you hear it sing? If you have questions still, after listening to the mountains, the rivers, the streams, what joy will my answers truly bring?
No, I have no answers.
pt1
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