THE RESIDUE OF MAGIC

The quiet kills
with emptiness
and a furnace of longing.
Despair
infects my veins
as I am consumed
by a vacancy
in mind spells.
Where is the magic wand
that once stirred
my sandman’s mural
so rich in the cream
of ecstasy’s fiery touch?
Have they gone forever
or just another
tears worth?
Answers
come as breaths of surrender
when I inhale
God’s incense of grace.