I replaced phone to cradle,
knowing it was just
something to say,

that luck’s more than preparation
meeting opportunity
wooing a congressman
saving up for a sex change.

It’s not hard fact in collaboration
with ambiguity,

not briefs longing for
the strapless bra up in heaven.
It’s a result,

what Jesse Pinkman
told Hank Schrader
“Mr. White’s so damn lucky”

which may not bear out
when the machine gun’s
fired its last, or may,
because fulfillment is in the
eye of the storm.

Could be luck’s the
River Jordan of fiction,
a passage, part of the daily miracle,
a Glad bag of coal
Superman will squeeze
into diamonds.

I saw him do it.