On the Ontological Incompatibility of the One and the Null

The shining-browed poem-parent
Welcomed good and evil elves
Alike into the firelight

But as they all rushed forward
They seemed to disintegrate
Into black ash in the glow.

This, suggested the poet,
Is why you can’t have magic
That you don’t keep in the dark.

But one of us objected,
Complaining, how do you know,
Poet, the reverse is not

Equally true? When we step
Out beyond this hearth-circle
Of our familiar senses,

Don’t we fall apart? Don’t we
Leave behind a broken shell
And evaporate in night?

Alright, the poet replied,
Alright. There’s another world
That isn’t that you go to

When you aren’t, and you can call
That world magic but it’s still
Ash and rumor in the light.