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.