Here I am being wishful again,

Wising for it hard

Bearing in mind, also the odds.

Yearning for it

Sometimes almost reaching out to it

To all that I aspire

Almost feeling it

A moment surreal

And then

Snatched back to the instance

By a blink

A snap

A blow yet of the softest touch

Create waves inside the head

It rises

It descends

Ripples

It soothes

Gradually

Into the nothing.