I’ve often said
May things go the ideal way
and so furiously do I urge it on
that much like a boy,
who in his little sail boat
will blow furiously against her sails
supremely confident that with his lungs alone
and the strength of their combined, forceful, breathy desire
and perhaps with the aid of softer, lapping waves beneath him
that his little sail boat
shall carry him to the shore plain in sight
to revel in golden sands.
in which none have played.
so I pray,
hands clasped and breath poised for swift exhale—
May things go the ideal way.