I made a wish on fallen peridot,
that streaked across night's Prussian blue vellum.
It coalesced at your feet,
shimmering,
and I lapped up the dazzle of it,
thirsty,
but you never fully filled my cup,
every day pouring less and less
until I drank sand.
I clung to the coattails of your shadow,
white knuckle gripping that gray ghost of hope,
until the sun rose,
and only my nail marks on the wall
remained.