Painting Over the Windows With Magic

Cloud wreck on the horizon. Rush hour
flurries. Debris scattering across
the page of Easter morning. The news
remains worrisome. This is a morning
to fling open the windows where people
and events once crowded memory’s sidewalks.

Over coffee and the Toronto Star, let’s
begin building legends. Stories that are drawn
from those spaces where windows
now crowd the landscape as though the stars
have been cut out of the firmament.

Let’s brandish stories like magicians brandish
magic tricks from empty sleeves. One moment
nothing and the next a rose. A rabbit. A dove
escaping into the amazed crowd. A memory
outliving the event.