Our first night, you asked if I was sure
That the star I wished upon wasn?t a planet.
There are, you promised, men with maps and charts and names
To tell each one from another,
To guide us true among the bright denizens of the ever after.
Yet what you taught me later was
It doesn?t matter. They all still shine.
The magic isn?t in the star at all, my love. It?s in the wish.
In all of this living we sometimes lose our way,
Snared in a compass rose maze of maps and charts and names
Trying to tell each one from another
Until we turn our planets into stars and our stars into planets
And things fly apart.
We are capable of more.
The magic isn?t in the star at all, my love. It?s in the wish.
Let us forget such distinctions. Bind division
With the springtime green ribbon of desire
Into one shining and inseparable whole.
Silence the clamor of yesterday, of looking back, of regret:
They do not matter. These have no place
in the singular hope of tomorrow.
We are capable of more. The stars still shine.
The magic isn?t in the star at all, my love. It?s in the wish.