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.