#writingaboutdeadmagicians

with unfumbled fingers he loosened the rules the shell of beliefs broken delicate cracks decorate the once clear glass reality reforms in his words spoken and i truly do believe that wonders will never cease that no matter how many locks and watery enclosures he clothes and closes himself in he will still breathe all gasps and theatrics warmed water carried in buckets, carrying his body’s heat in drips and puddles on a wooden stage as he stands heaving air in greedy gulps of triumph and we feed upon the  trick and skill of it his heart tripping over itself to the beat of the crowd’s disbelief it brings him back from upside down, from underneath each time, each tour, each city the strength of his mind, his fingers in quiet wonder i am exhaling only to pull the air sharply back, holding it as precious as keys and needles my mouth a careful collection of delicate things all possible paths forward into freedom as he bows choreographed and water flies from his hair in a dance between air and stage the sizzle of lights shattering reality falls from me like a layer of ice and escaped i stand coated in the warm darkness of the theatre’s wings believing