i watched as 11:11 walked by on the clock
hesitating every few seconds with a wish on the tip of my tongue
holding back, holding on
11:12 became a new story, i couldn’t wish that moment back because wishes can’t be contained in a well
they’re out in the open, floating, waiting for a well-meaning hand to grab them
i’m just here writing with black ink stained hands, hoping someone can read between the lines
waking up the poet.
Writer and photographer from remote Labrador, Canada. Just another cold Labradorian chillin' in the Big Land. Can most likely be found walking my dog Grace or behind an iMac screen slowly taking over the interwebs.