ISSUE: Spring 2007
The magician is
sawing light in half, his sheer,
importunate spell
meshed in the bright
cardiovascular net-
body suspended
in air before him.
A writhe of pain or supple
ecstasy shivers
through it, a blind name
he hums, his blade caresses.
Out here, we are screened
only by the mist
that sheathes them, incandescent,
each making a play
for its other. The saw
hovers in the shimmering
light; the magician
feels the bright music
climb his arm into his mind.
Just as he lets go,
the saw explodes, poof,
into the finest dust—stunned,
brilliant. The light holds
everything as we
watching everything merge into
one lovely bow, sweep-
ing its coattails back,
its top hat in a semi-
circle like the edge
of a broad-axe blade
toward us. The sigh of terror
and relief that joins
the dispersing light
could as well be its breathing
as ours, finally
released, time’s aura
and echo whispering each
other’s semblances.
Our applause rises,
as if in this rickety
hall it would fashion
a new renaissance
of domes, shadowing in them
history’s next sweet
cherubim of fire.