the magic words have stopped working

Where the city shaves slivers of itself in its own eclipsing rotation, burning at its core the molten liquid of the forgotten dreams of dreamers--spinning the unmoving spin of the center of things, the kiss of a cherry blossom frozen in midair before our shipwrecked eyes-where it conjures electricity in the snap of metal fingers - tempts wire walkers with its unabashed opulence and mesmerizes even the sky in its catatonic embrace. I will see you again. Even if only a single old man survives the glaring beauty of your disremembered eyes, I will see you again.