At the stroke of midnight,
my eyes light up, awaiting the magic.
Usually, nothing happens. Nothing at all,
and the city is silent. Silenty asleep
when I am awake and counting down.
It’s no New Years or Christmas,
It’s not even a birthday.
It’s just the eve of possibility and a
window of opportunity. I just need to slice it open
and step through to the other side, dressed in brilliant white.
I think that if I die,
I should like to die
at the stroke of midnight.