The Business of Magic

Driving home tonight
I caught a glimpse of you in the rear view
sleeping

your tiara still attached to chlorine curls
a wand hanging from pruned fingers

tired of turning cats into horses
and the heavy business of magic

peeking out of street light shadows
the triangular fleeting shapes of your face made brow
and chin
and lips into a Dahli painting
where strangely everything made sense
in the fragments

I see the reason for it all

you

breathing the salty air of the pacific coast highway
where movies about lives like ours are filmed.

In the rear view you are perfect.
and I am just a driver
taking you wherever it is
you wish to go.