When I was a child, I wished for a house
a small house in the woods where I could write.
I made the wish on no star, prayed to no god per se;
it was simply the unspoken wish of a child’s heart
brought to mind on a latter day
when I was grown and walking home
from my writing house on the edge of the woods
in Maine. Understanding came in a moment complete:
I had the desire of my heart.