I watch the delicate eyelash
and then float lifelessly away from my finger.
I ponder my inevitable wish-making superstition,
questioning why I would even risk the puff
of a perfectly fine breath
for the impossible.
I know the wish could never be,
yet my mind is full of the wonderful
the vast possibilities of the predicament.
I never expect anything to come of the
yet hope is what keeps me alive.
I am only but a human.