Hope

The expectation is there.

Sparks shoot from finger-tips.
Loose tongues and excitable lips, moist
with anticipation, form
an idea, which germinates,
translates – transcends translation and
winds up igniting dark corners.

The hope is there.
That this time will be different, will
make a difference, will
warn us against the pitfalls of
closed minds, eyes, blind.

Won't miss the mark, this time, to
slide unnoticed, un-understood
into the carpet until
there is nothing there.

Nothing,
but the faintest of
glimmers.