There are wishes and could’ves and might’ves and ifs

tie a wish in a knot and lace through an eyelet,
you’ve started a lure, with a hook called potential;
the ifs spin like bearings in sleek, rolling housings,
twirl could-bes and maybes like feathers and wire

It could sit with your tackle, another bright hobby,
or bob on your cap like a feather for fashion

But there’s only one way to make wishes catch fishes

That plop in the water
is a sound known as risk

A frog or a gar or some old piece of junk
might catch hold, swallow and steal your bright dream
Reel those in, and it’s still just a mess to get back

But as soon as the lure breaks the surface and sinks
the ripples start spreading, the water responds
and with that first tiny tug and patient slow crank
of the reel, you’ve changed wishes to maybes

to yes

And a yank and a snap and fast-moving hand
is all that stands between wishes
and fish

poems: alphabetical || chronological
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ChaoSpirals