On the back porch I saw first its long pale foot
Five grey fingers, two twisted into themselves 

I thought the raccoon was dead, on its back, 
head dangling over the fifteen foot drop

(a couple days since I’d last gone on the deck)
But it slowly blinked its eyes

Lay with his soft belly up to the sun, me
with legs crossed over the sunburnt table

Magic is when two things combine 
An excess that makes sense but defies 

understanding, like when you pick up the phone
and who you meant to call is on the other end:

It doesn’t matter what moved the planchette
what spelled such outrageous words

when the board was placed over our knees 
there was already something waiting

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