We’re no fortune tellers
No time travelers —
God isn’t whispering His
Distant plans into our ears.

We’re just hopefuls
Speculating our futures
On 11:11 wishes
& fallen eyelash kisses.

Next time you see a shooting star
Harness its magic
Soak in that you’re made of star-stuff
And don’t you dare close your eyes
To breathe out another fruitless prayer.