Magic

When I was young there was an old man
Who sat at the top of the Matopos hill
We used to call him the lizard caller
He’d whistle and the lizards would come from under every rock
And gather around him
The way children gather around a storyteller
Love has made me a magician too
You should see the way butterflies flock to my hair
When I sit by a stream and begin to tell them
All about the way you look at me.