“… even in the darkest times we have a right to expect some illumination . . . This may well come less from theories and concepts than from the uncertain, flickering, and often weak light that some men and women, in their lives and works, will kindle under most all circumstances and shed over the time that was given them on earth.” – Hannah Arendt

You say you want magic

to keep company the twin canaries

of grief and longing?

Look no further

than your own two hands,

conduits

for spidery balls

of glowing light

intrinsic to divine order

and symmetry.

In other words,

the world is not in your hands,

the Universe is.

There is nothing to grasp.

Your palms, opened,

are engraved

with the not-so-secret

secret score

to an opera in progress,

where you, as singer and audience,

asked for wonder

and received it,

to bask in and share with others,

as if many worlds

depended upon

embers in the dark.