The Magician

 4.12.13 / 8.22.13 (2)

Humility, that wide-eyed child

   once stood next to the fountain on Cantos Plaza

A yellow tipped man hung his bow there -- 

drew it across the symphony he 

   played in his heart

                          -- if only he’d known

All around him sun’s rays shone through dusty

   streets, finding every shadow and giving chase

The plaza dripped with honey

   and bread fell from the sky, but

the bow drew back and forth.

The conductor tapped his stand in vain passion

calling “attention” to the yellow tipped man

                  -- but the man played on

                     his dream of the orchestra around him

                     Became his alone;

                                    for soon only the man stood,

   tourists passing long enough to toss

   what coins they knew into his

   yellow-tipped heart,

      paying for his burial.

And humility closed her eyes on the man

               -- who was no more.

A fiddle fell to the ground in Cantos Plaza

and a tourist bent to receive a magician’s opus

                 -- but he found none of the strings in tune.      

Copyright © 2025 Skye Shae Bonati. All rights reserved. This artwork may not be reproduced, modified, or distributed in any form without the express written permission of the artist.

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