This is what I know:
my name is Whimsy & magic is real-
a fine glitter hovering in the air
It doesn’t matter that most can’t see the energy (the ashe)
like a woven spell stringing through & connecting all things.
It doesn’t matter that some don’t believe in magic,
they still inhale it.
They are still part of the plucked heart-thrum of life.
the non-magical look & look & don’t see
Still, there are things that cross magic lines.
Sadness can seep into anything, even trees
especially the weeds — perhaps (even)