There were years
when the Easter Bunny
set out a wrench and a flashlight
beside the baskets—remember,
brother, the pleasure we took
in the hiding and finding
long after the years of believing
in magic were over?
Eggs we floated in plastic bags
in the backs of the toilet.
Eggs duct taped to the inside
of the chimney flue. Eggs
in the vents, inside the piano,
we delighted in what a bit of invention
could do. Tonight I walked out
of the house after dinner
to take the recycling up to the road,
and there, to the west, an outpouring
of light made me stop and stare
and inwardly, sweetly erode.
In a world so bent, I sometimes forget
that the magic is always
inside us. We have all the tools
that we need. All we need to do
is keep trying to find it.