on sundays i worship / at a temple of beauty
and splendor / clasped hands curled like coins /
unfurled after whispered dreams / maybe one
day made marble. on sundays i stand / on
the outskirts / periphery / watching waiting for /
salvation in the flick / of a wrist. on sundays i
put down / a pen & pick up a habit / in a market
place / cobbled streets lined with metaphors. on
sundays i practice / the movements of magicians /
winding wool / between / their / fingers / and creating
silk threads woven / with wit. i watch as women /
smile / exchanging lovesick for soliloquies / &
leaving red for crimson / men exchanging
heartbreak for haiku / & making mountains /
from grains of sand / i see / people turning ordinary
into breathtaking. on sundays i wish / for pennies
in my pocket / to try their wares / to know
what wistfulness can be exchanged for / to hold
carmine in my veins & share that spark / of joy
as the stalls vanish / into the night. on sundays
i twist / twine around my pinkie / and pray for silk.

  -  magicians // e.k.l