Luck and love to those of us
who sweep the corners of our rooms
to catch the leavings and the discards
and make them into something new.

Love and luck to those who see
a moment as an eon in miniature
and then pull history from its passing
to capture what we all would otherwise forget.

Love and luck to those
swept up in words,
who know how difficult it may be
to step aside from the rushing day

and work to hold on to all that which happens
so swiftly that without love and luck
it would vanish unremarked: each morning’s small miracles,
each evening’s resignation to the fall of night.