Magic Hour

Watch me pull a hat out of a rabbit:
the weird trick of continuing to love
the world, even as it twists itself
into uncanny shapes; shapes that become
mundane, drained of strangeness while staying strange.
To no longer be the Main Character
but the Remain Character, left behind
yet still moving forward, into the dark.

In search of lost time? I got your lost time,
right here. Memories are made: this, then this.
Age performs what imagination can’t—
the Life of the World to Come, entombed
in a Tuesday morning of pearly grays,
a steam rising from teacups, iron grates.