No Magic Left Poem by James McLain

there's no magic left,
nor any old tricks,
no wind, no music or sea—
just two people,
ordinary as my tree in your bush.

you were the wild breeze once,
I rode through that rough tide,
left in a daze
but now we sit, lay silent and still
like stale water,
flat, unloving and lifeless.

stillness should bring peace,
but hell,
it only leaves me sour,
like a pool that forgot the ocean,
sick with the silence,
corrupt.

so I spit out your ornaments i crumple the beauty,
and leave out the hollowed bones,
such is my sentiment—a quiet rage alive beneath the dead calm.