‘The Magician’, Clare Walker

Let it be known,

I knew he wasn’t to be trusted.

The way he fanned cards

in front of my face, and read

my eyes like the deck.

Every word a flower in his mouth,

each smile a scarf up his sleeve.

He moved much faster than me;

talked air to gold coins beside my ear.

Let it be known,

I expected misdirection.

His house – a riddle of hidden doors –

I swear I saw a rabbit hop across the hall;

swear doves nested at the foot of his bed