Make a wish.

You may pray
for renewed faith, for God to warp
circumstances only you can change,

while I whisper without some
form of material gain,

I may never
crane my neck anywhere but toward
the dirt, where my
aching feet
meet with earthworms,

who struggle and
squirm under
black Nikes.

Yet we can talk
just as lightly about parasites in
my psyche, imbuing you with
the will to fight me,
far sight

But at eleven
we put our stock in
the message one day I’ll look up
to the sky
and believe

the way you

in something  
other than my

fascination with the ground.


One thought on “11:11

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