But These Are All Tricks

Deceit and cheats are trifles,
And the brain’s sense of smallness
Characterizes value

As shrinking with illusion.
What’s less true must be littler—
Metaphor deeper than bone,

Older than the words deployed
In its service to the hurt
Senses expecting wonders.

But all actual magic,
Darlings, is small. Real trifles
Slip through the rip in the stitch.