if i could give up expecting,
i’d know what hope really is
and probably love, too.

to give up pushing and trying, i think,
must be quite beautiful–
i’m sure i’m right.

if i could take him as he is,
the love i feel in my gut
wouldn’t feel like transgression–

it’d be calling out rather than a calling in,
and i’d feel less of myself in everything–
the world could just be.

perhaps i’d learn to stop wishing on everything–even
light-struck dust particles–that he’d learn to love me.