​I wished.
     Not on a falling star
     (when a blink
     shapes doubt
     of what was
     or might have been)―
Will you
     promise
not to tell?     
     Wishes are secrets
     we cannot
forsake―
     perjuries of disbelief
     never giving
     more than they take.
     Neither was it a happy-birthday-to-  
you wish, spent absently
     on clapping smiles.  Remember,
a wish stretched
     beyond two
     becomes something
new.  Fragile, maybe―
     but stronger, too. 
     Not a throw-a-ruby-in-a-well wish, either 
     ―No, this was a full-blooded
Earth Wish: with lips like fountains
     flowing toward mountain gates
     through hidden paths and pillars―
     understanding―
     heartsome―
     waterful―
     rising, flooding . . . . It  
awaits an answer (can makers
     become grantors?)―
My mother said
     wishes make little
children of us all.
     
       God, I wish
       I knew
       how to Wish
       like you.