The first thing I’d wish for is the name Gabriel.
I’d be closer to an angel that way.
I remember the Golden Gabriel with his trumpet
on top of the Mormon Temple.
My friend Gary in high school told me it was Miles Davis
and if you got close enough you could hear
“Kinda Blue” coming from his horn.
If I was named Gabriel, I’d have my own star,
glittering in the dome of night.
A star, my own real estate.
A dad could stand on his front lawn
pointing up to the millions of lights
and tell his kid:
“See that one to the left of the palm tree?