Yesterday,

after they told me about the murmur,

I discovered an eyelash on your nose

lying weightless like a sea lion on a dock.

Making a wish I blew it once,

and unmoving it mocked me–

balancing through what must have been a tepid wind

and telling me what I already know:

that blowing harder doesn’t guarantee a thing.

So I repeated the wish and gave it a healthy gust

imagining I could see it fly across the

shadows in your room

and find its place among the fibers of your carpet

solidly gripping my desire.