i smell of creosote which makes me uneasy yet no less magic

i am prone 
to magical thinking. one 
definition of “prone” is to lay 
flat on the ground, typically 
face down. 
and one example of thinking, 
magically, is: i this morning 
write a short email to a woman
in Philadelphia, a screen printer
of shirts. the subject 
of the email is; will you
print for me on long-sleeve?
the magical subtext is; will you 
fall in love with me? 

i was meant to work
outside this morning, 
laboring manually in the rain. 
instead i drink a second cup 
of coffee and live for a while 
in Philadelphia, with a woman 
who loves me and 
screen prints
even on long sleeves. 

another definition of “prone” 
is to experience or suffer 
from something, usually
regrettable or unwelcome. and 
another version of the magic
of thought is that i hope
to be a gardener, tending 
to a love-blossomed body. a poet
just died, a woman 
who wrote beautifully. she
was known and loved
for her skill. is it thought’s
magic that prods me to desire 
a love such as hers? and is it still 
prone if when i fold onto
the ground, i lay with eyes 
rolled skyward?

Published by Zak

an intertidal island in an ocean of impermanence.

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