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Poem
Who knows if magic exists,
if dreams come true
and whether miracles take place
(all of these things we thought we knew)

... buried in our haste
to dig childhood's grave...

And though something gets lost
along the way,
it's never very far --
(and oddly enough
never very near)

We find it when we least expect
(when the sun dips and the moon resurrects)
Takes nothing more than some dry brush
and a flicker
(just enough, mind you, to convince any young squirt
you're a wizard)

And lo and behold ... a campfire is born!
drawing friends and strangers alike.
From those uneasy, longing for something more:
those that wish to say to their long-traveled fears,
"Take a Hike!"
We are all Homo-Sapiens
astride these flames, this moment, this night.

And everything falls into place
(and nothing makes sense)
We say, "Eat a Snickers, Rat Race!"
(and accept it as pretense)

For nothing else exists
when nature misbehaves such as this:
orange and amber flames
like twin spirits sparking our inner dialogue.
Yet nothing at all do we hear
save the sap-filled sophistries
exploding in each and every log

And yet illumination comes
when the darkness of night overtakes
We take pleasure in the heat
of flames (and friends) simply for own sake...

...like sputterings of contentment,
so softly nestled in each hiss and crack

(the choir of pine cones bearing witness
to all the days we'll never get back;
the future nights, never reached)

Up like the wisp of smoke
we've seen a thousand times before ... poof!
Gone like the fireflies we've caught and let slip,
jarred and un-jarred, as if repetition was our duty

(ain't that the truth)

The mysteries of the mind hiding such enchantment
at such vapid magic as this: wood burning
(in the center of a semi-circle) -searing,
as one would a bull,
on all who gaze upon its diabolical delight

These People! God up in heaven ... this Night!
Who could dare contemplate
the glory of this present moment ... how bright?

Like a pinewood ember longing to join
the likes of Leo, the party of Pisces,
so to does one's thoughts linger on eternity
and the Ever After -experienced in the Now

In the company of Capricorn
we cogitate the Cosmic Crafter

"But it's just a campfire," one might interject
"A couple logs and some heat ... nothing more!"

... and yet it sparks such intellect

From deep within (you know it to be true)
warm tendrils find their way (you can see it peeking through)

... to the surface, something ancient and new,
slippery and sure;
as mysterious as a mirror darkly (and yet oddly familiar)

And who could doubt the conclusion?
except those who never put flint to reed
and watched a Red Flower bloom

Yes, there is something mystical here
concerning this brew
of pine needles, deadwood and star laden dome roof

And yet the paradigm comes back again!
The age old question in quest for the truth:

"Who knows if magic exists,
if dreams comes true
and whether miracles takes place?"

I know it
And so do you
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