i have hope for the night – that i’ve been told starts a tad too late – and with this excitement comes trepidation.
they walk hand in hand, like lovers, and other hands keep turning on a patient face – number after number after number – until the stars are where they’re supposed to be and waiting gives way to action.
and potential becomes something either wonderful or dismaying.
with my hands clasped together, i look up into this night, and pray for another night – that it may be filled with wonderlust and magick.
and if there has to be a silence, please let it be the beautiful kind.