magic

whatever magic is,
it's measurable.

it's in the metronomic dance of cogs
in your watch,
in the gallop of your hands
on keys.

it's in batter's
metamorphosis into cake,

in the zygote's slow unfurl
toward corpsehood.

it's in the understanding that flowers
in the two cerebellums
of the two people who speak
and see it potted and vased
on the sills in each other's eyes.