On the ash bough,
I hang the wish
ribbon beside the threads
of others pleading miracle.
Red silk and curling orange
satin, a pulled piece of tartan
cloth, and here a work shirt hem,
they twist and twirl
into their decrepit end.
With the rot, the wish
ripples out to change
the rainy world.
Beneath the ash bough,
a thousand remnants,
the scraps of desire done
with dancing on a string
and set down to earth,
an odd mulch. What of those
ribbons plucked by birds
and used for multicolor havens?
There are wish nests
in the tall trees nearby.
Who sees to them,
the air, who traverses
its own way? A child
summer frolics in my mind,
I fear my eyes will never see. I hang
the wish, turn it tight and watch it spin.
Copyright © Raina J. León 2013
