To Disappear

If it was a matter of magic only

the man would disappear
when the red cloth slipped through

his fingers

but he was trembling, his straw hat firmly grounded
at his feet

for coins
and the odd spell to drop in.
Perhaps in one breath the hat would simply mark

his place
so the passing crowd would open the page

if it was so minded
and ask why he stood there with his grey jaw
and the ragged

red cloth miraculously closed now
and spinning

like fire in his hands.
The straw hat blossomed and became fields of wheat.

He was gone, gone, and the crowd, now aware,
threw coins

like rain into the stalks.