The Trick

A minor miracle, you rise
from nothingness, the ghostly gray
palm on stage, like Venus did,
stepping into flesh from foam.

We do not perceive the sleeve,

the preparations, the pair of pearl
buttons fastening the glove,
the tall black hat of magic. Our

eyes are fixed on what’s beyond

already, following a flash
and flutter high above: a dove,
like love, or life, gone up in smoke.

Ice Wine

As the light withdraws, I concentrate
on summer, other days, warm memories,
distilling them into clusters of grapes
glistening with frost, like those dark globes,
intentionally left unharvested,

still clinging to the vines. I wonder if
it might be time to let the cold be cold,
and let that sweetness fill my heart also.
I’m no expert in hearts, but I feel
winter might work its magic on me, too.