To Something of Great Constancy

Incredulity
Doesn’t always need
To entail contempt.

There are names for things,
And stories for things,
And faiths built of things

That do not exist,
Never existed,
And will not exist,

But admiration
Shouldn’t be ruled out
By sheer disbelief.

There’s a constancy
In those kinds of names
And stories and faiths,

Both consistency
And pure persistence,
A rich mystery

In and of itself
Worthy of respect.
In its stubbornness

Magic is magic,
Self-levitating
Offspring of meaning.