The sun and the possum and the white snow
and the deer and the mountain and the taro
and the inchworm and the amethyst and the stiff curtains
and the winch blade and the iron cage and the egg,
and the glow-in-the-dark egg and the silver throat and the mongoose
and the on-the-wall duck and the rabid trumpet and the mirror of longing
and the inlaid eyes and the hot pink olives and the bed where I put my suit yesterday
and the porcelain happenstance of your armour and the knot in my stomach and the
buoy
all of it, in a pile, and sprinkled with violet and ivy
and sprinkled with rosehip and phosphorescence
the light coming in endlessly
the joy moving seamlessly
through the wind, which was warming the air
through the pine, which was combing the sky
past the black pines, farther in the distance
the world was awash with magic.