I remember when
after pouring through the dusty pages
I convinced my parents to buy me
The Little Book of Spells and Magic.
Scouring through its aged leaves
I got lost in the mazes of
carefully-placed words that
on each page revealed
a little more of me.

That night
I could see magic glittering,
sparkling everywhere around me.
In the neighborly wind that at
my window softly knocked.
In the warm crushing silence
that whispered to my eager ear
all the forbidden secrets of
the universe.

But most of all
in the earthly warmth of
my grandfather’s ghostly presence
looking in from my snowy window.
I was too scared to open it
but I could feel his icy breath
as he smiled down at me.
He told me in words unspoken
that magic does exist.