My Best Magic Spell Yet

SNAP:

I spread them out
as if upon a tablecloth,
a canvas, thin, unprimed,
but painted with the tenderest and
most raw little visions.

They are naked to the luminous, indifferent eye
that will not eat, but scrutinize
for qualities demanding senses
I can only dimly tap.

and reverently upon the linen
I now also place my heart
an offering, like oranges,
more freshly picked,
but nearly as pervasive.

It sees the dreams
sees into them, around them
and beyond them
and sees my heart the same --
like it was glass --
thin walled and intricate,
crafted by an old friend
whose wide swings of the blowpipe,
whose reasons for that lip, that neck,
are intimately known

What I want
and WHY I WANT IT
I'm shaking with excitement

and I am seen all the way through

and lit, even admired that way,
without one condition or demand.

Not one.

Its answer is, "Commune with me:
There is passion in the flowers and the subatomic pull
of minerals, who,
shaking with excitement
as the hairs of blind bacteria
proceed to penetrate and crumble them,
arrange and rearrange

and I am not exactly you"

but in that moment, that destruction,
something heaves,
our dreams converge.

My imperfect, brittle heart
was just the fruit you needed
then, for senses
you routinely feed
with flowers and with fungus
I've forgotten how to taste.

AMEN
(SNAP)