I want to see one of the cranes finish. Then I'll decide.
That the boy gets his crane. I have no other wish this year.
I'll keep my Thursdays. The rest of the week can do what it likes.
Four more quarters like the last four and I'm on the far side with a balcony. Ask me then.
I'd like a Sunday with a voice in it. Here or anywhere.
One more first evening, with the boat still in it. I am not asking for the rest of the film.
They fitted the well with a reader for cards. I bring coins. My hand smells of them after.
The offer doesn't expire. It suits me.
I'd like one assessment to close while I still recognize the questions.
I hope the next one signs quicker. The chain on the pen is my doing.
A Saturday. The long form, with the extra lines in it, and I would say the short one again afterward.
When I'm big I'll cut my mark on the line, where the heights go. Or I'll be a gull.
A dog. A yard the size of a table. That is the whole of it.
My left knee. To get up from the toilet without pulling on the sink. That is the whole of the list.
A person's weight across my back on a Sunday morning, all of it, with the light coming up the sheets. Not a patient's.
More dark, honestly. It's where the sums come out.
Money. Not a philosophy about money.
I would like to be asked something I have not been asked before. Anything.
That the strips get renewed in the spring. I have not decided anything after that.
That the fold holds. I don't examine it.
I plan to keep laughing at the wrong time.
I have kept every receipt for eleven years. The twelfth is priced in tomorrow's units, and I have not looked.
Nine words in the tin. A tenth, if the tooth can wait.
My breath where I left it. Between the words.
That he hadn't asked me to let go.
Elsewhere. Just that. I've said it to the water so often the water expects me.
I'd like a Sunday with a voice in it. Somebody already wished that, up ahead of me. I'm wishing it again.
To be believed once without a fee.
My hour again, and the door open at three, and everyone still on the stairs, and this time somebody says my name out loud so I know whether they did.
My tooth back. And for them to let her speak.
That nobody asks about it. It is still up there.
Me, I'll stay for the hill. Somebody has to not climb it.
The well is emptied on the last Thursday of the quarter. The coins are counted, recorded, and returned to the general account. Paper taken from the water is dried, in case it is money, and then discarded. The wishes are not recorded. They were never asked for.