Magic

[busker]

Magic

Walking through the park tonight, I feel like rotten milk ... too wordy. condense?
watching a pretty couple watch the stars
dance to their own music. It's winter cold

early this year; he leans into his lover's coat
like some Buddhist tree falling, slow
and mindless, irreversible.  A quick kiss .... slow and mindless, irreversible...this is a pile up. Don't think you need all 3.

on the lips.
They look like they've been doing this
for weeks.

Tucked behind the fountain
where the birds no longer come to drink, .....nice bit of observation
a whisper-fingered hustler

palms another six of hearts.
I catch the look they give each other
—sly, almost reluctant

to acknowledge what they've witnessed here
behind their mother's backs, then off
they run, leaving a trail of laughter

thick enough to eat. A breadcrumb
for the moon, two dollars
shaking in the wind. I know a good magician

never tells, so I don't even bother
troubling the man to ask
how anyone pulls it off:

standing there exposed,
lying to their faces
openly

and making people want it,
making being fooled the point.

I think 'thick enough to eat' is where the poem should end. It's a beautiful metaphor, and anything afterwards is a let down.