Wishes are plateaus we seek, marginal beings, galvanized electric sparks.

They approach like thunder—suddenly the wild beach, roller coaster smile, cindered fingers rising from the doldrums.

Dip into a heterodox cadence, spill forth a doxology, grasp the mystic repose of unicorns. Everything is blank. No cherubs, no ecumenical cannons to obey.

Be your own apostle. Clutch a wish. Follow it as it drags you to sea, body a cocoon of cataplexy, spirit a vortex grasping the unnameable gestalt.

The sonata is ours to play.

Make a wish.