i

the unicorn tapestry

it isn’t real

unless you can keep it

and then it keeps us warm inside

though all around us

the world is impossibly growing

abundant beyond forever

fecund, fertile, flourishing, flowering, fruit

we want

in order to appreciate

and kill

to curate our impossible richness

at the center of our sight

but to see the magic

of everything that grows

we must accept an end

so far away

it’s hardly real

save that it might fray to tatters

and in its death then whispering

like a truth in the heart of the world

to grow up as if reaching

for a promise from the sky

light-soaked and invisible

that belief in that so beyond us

is the magic that life is worth its costs

keep it in the contents of your hunting eye

searching up

and we are leashed to the happy promise

accepting what may come

is ourselves growing into that which isn’t

impossibly becoming

from so much of what like never was

more than could be imagined

like a contradiction

releasing us from reality’s prison