Wild Magic

by Angela

I see wild magic in small things:
in the shine of an eye discovering
something new for itself;
in the yellow algae spreading over
the old stone wall in my back garden;
in the tallness of the Redwoods
we socially-distanced sang under,
in a small group of six;
in the green hope that juts from the sparse
desert dune, on the path down to the beach;
in a truth fully expressed;
in a song, in a harmony;
in the brown leaves, heaped at the bottom
of Magnolia Tree, waiting to rot—
to complete the spiral
of birth,
life death
rebirth