the wishing well

waiting for proof is the less effective method

it was dark as licorice
where you waited
your eyes making out monster shapes
which in the day would be trees
and through the air
came the shriek and whine
of insects dying

you leaned against the wishing well
hoping he would come soon
wondering what his penny
carried—yours was a simple wish
simply made and
granted by his
tall shadow striding through the
living garden

but you held your penny close
waiting to know
who he had chosen
why pay the well for her wish?
until, through the night
you saw his familiar quickstep
nearly running to you
and so you fed the well

and as the coin bounced and rang
the rustling deepened to rush of bats
from the well past your leaning head
even with your eyes closed, almost
you could see wings and you didn’t
need to see his face
to know he hadn’t chosen you