In Germany they keep
a few old things around
for when the days get brittle.
Fasching is when clown beards
come alive and small birds fly out,
when wine turns back into blood
and girls and boys love-chant as sacred fools.
I flew down the stairs unbelieving
to see my friends as they should be, a happy seething mass
painted like African dancers
and sea horses and zebras.
Later there would be time
plant weeds to keep other weeds down.
Tonight is Zauberei!