I wish I were the night sky

the arc of stars

you look through

toward time and your true nature.


I wish I were the river

you never step in twice,

the road you follow home.


I wish I were the wild, aerobatic bird

released from behind your ribs.


I wish I were the deft phrase

that makes up your mind


the ancient ocean

of absolute certainty

at the edge of your dreams.


I wish I were the wooden spoon

you’ve used for thirty years

to stir that thick barley soup

you love to make.