What to wish for, what to dread?
The question itself spends dread
That might have been better spent
On practical terrors.
And can a wish be action,
And what would that action be?
More often, it’s dread breaking
Into an idle daydream.
At sunset, the branches sway
In a wind without wishes
Or dread, without any shred
Of unity, only air
Being stirred by stirring airs.
I wish I could get what’s best
To wish for once the wind rests.