A lilt of breeze comes
into my instrument;
leaves beat the ground:
show me the rhythm.
Finding isn’t, seeking is.
I nudge where light
robs the darkness.
I arrive in a place that sings.
It is magic.



(fountain:; wings:

About Jim Stewart

Writer at Butt in Chair
This entry was posted in Art, Consciousness, Humans, Music, Poem and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to Magic

  1. Melissa Shaw-Smith says:

    Very nice!

  2. Seeking is life, I think.

  3. narble says:

    For many of us, yes, it is.

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