Magic (a poem)

What is magic?
Magic is
That electric anticipation of a kiss:
The parting of lips,
The flow of breath,
Heartbeats accelerating
Into interweaving rhythm.
It is that touch of a father’s hand
To his son’s shoulder,
Wise eyes on the horizon,
Patiently silent through the younger man’s sobs.
It is dawn,
Exploding through the clouds
In colors never seen,
Drawing song from feathery throats
And delivering myriad minds awake
To new possibilities.
It is the smile in a mother’s eyes,
That amused set of her jaw;
It is her poise at the picnic table,
Chin propped in age-spotted hand
As her daughter searches through modern lenses
For that perfect shot.
It is dragons
It is melody in a canoe beneath the stars
It is strolling hand-in-hand
It is clarity
It is memory.
Magic is forever;
And forever and always,
Magic is real.