On "Magic"

dedicated to the late Manuel Marulanda;
no, I'm not a member
and my only weapon is my pen

I don't need no father in the sky,
don't need no living Christ,
don't NEED to drink, toke, or fry,
just need to look deep in my mind...

and remember that there's magic,
taking so many forms,
far, far away and around the corner.

Please, reader,
don't mis-understand me:
I don't mean Houdini, astrology, hexes,
or bent spoons for a reasonable fee

When I say "magic,"
I think of many diverse things:
kindnesses shown me by the farmers and fisher-folk of Phetchaburi, Thailand,
FARC warriors standing for humaternity
in the sweltering jungles of Colombia,
how my youthful blindnesses were with time outgrown,
how soup may be made from only a stone,
how nature's laws are far from known,
how there's often a cure where labs see none,
how benevolence depravity oft overcomes,

how even deathly night yields to glorious rising sun.