WISH

in the wheel of the stars
and the mow of the hay
in the blaze of amaze
at the birth of the day
 
in the whirr on the wire
and the scorch of the sun
in the warm and the storm
and the world on the run
 
in the roil and the broil
of the clouds’ heaving heap
in the indigo dusk
and the drifting to sleep
 
in the flap of a wing
or the bat of an eye
the slowness of Sunday
years scampering by
 
in the damp of the drizzle
the warmth of a glove
let there ever be you

let there ever be love.