Transparency of the Impossible

I look at the ceiling 

for long nights asking 

answerless questions, 

watching the transparency 

of the impossible 

while the uncanny 

possibilities lightning 

over dispersedly. 

Then one midnight 

I get up and grab some chalk 

to draw wide open wings 

on the dirt of the ceiling, 

porcelain white. 

I lie on my bed 

face down, waiting 

for the streaks to find 

their way in the dark.