I'll Keep Searching for Spells

I wish

I could give you

magic,

craft you

silver-boned atriums

full

of blown-glass birds,

slick feathers

sloughing

gold-dust wind

to curl

in your wild

hair.

I would

build you paper

boats

to slice

through black ink seas

and stain your name

on every crinkled

bow,

letters looping

in dancing dedication,

crush stars

between my palms,

grind them down

to shining metal

and mold them

to your

brow,

name you king

of a velvet

world,

and grow you

subjects

from rain-damp

ground-

Oak bark

nymphs

to paint your skin

waning-leaf

orange,

and towering guards

with limbs

like braided

kudzu.

In the

purple in-between

of twilight

I would build

your winding castle,

crystal floors,

jutting

haphazard

from mirrored walls

and dew drops strung

on spider-silk

ribbons.

I wish

I could give you

magic,

dip dancing fingers

into pouches full

of sparkling dust

and sculpt

you

endless worlds;

but all I have

are bent hands

and pockets

full

of useless

words