His countenance betrays nothing.
His eyes focused and unyielding.
His hands flutter, like wings of a bird.
Disappearing and reappearing with languid precision.
His hair leonine; wild and untamed.
He takes a goblet, turning water into wine.
He takes his staff and tosses it into the air.
And at its zenith, transforms it into a mighty sword.
With a deft hand, the Magician
Tears it from its impending descent.
He takes the blade and cuts through the air
In a big arc around him. Encircling himself.
His eyes now ablaze with fervent vigor;
Propelled by some cosmic force.
He sweeps the blade faster and faster
Around him, until it almost appears
As though he cut through the very fabric of time.
And a circle of white light surrounds him.
Vitruvian in all his splendor, he spreads
His limbs out as if he were spokes in a wheel.
Slowly he begins to turn inside the circle of light,
Spinning faster and faster with hellish speed,
Until a radiant flash bursts into a million stars.
As above, so below.
As it is on earth, so it is in heaven.