Making sense
Brings its own questions
Like floating through space
How is that possible?
And the pink in the rock
And the blue and the green
How do they come about?
And a cats purr
Why do I remember the peace when I hear it?
And it is peaceful
Like a lake or a crisp sun in winter
I don’t want to make sense of the why
Maybe that’s it
As if I did, maybe magic wouldn’t exist anymore
