he said:
“there’s a point where you stop
believing in miracles.”
he sat down,
pulled a flask from his jacket,
and took a long drink.

“but the funny thing is,” he said,
“you keep waiting for one anyway.
like some part of you
didn’t get the memo.”

i watched him stand up,
sway a little,
then walk out the door.
he left the flask behind.
it was empty.

What is it about loose eyelashes
That prompts wofty wishes;
Are they heaven’s kisses
In disguise?

We all want to lift our eyes
Above the cloak of disguise
Even if it may compromise
The facade, and authenticity’s surprise.

This world is concrete;
In Western buildings and streets,
In the here-and-now, we can flee
And dismiss lofty things as absolute.

But we are meaning-makers,
We are constant risk-takers.
We are pursuers for magic’s sake,
And may our quest we foolheartedly take.