Magic is a word I know intimately.
It resounds and dances off canyon walls
and whispers in trees and over fields
and sighs on your lips and fills your throat.
You, my dear, are made of magic,
and magic is a thing I know in my soul.
It fills my words to the aching brim,
till I can speak and write no more.
A little poem for Someone.
~ Erik Stormgaldr, 2016