when i think of all the times
i’ve caught the soap in the
shower, i wonder if i could
trade this for immortality or
winning the lottery or another

miracle beyond slick clumsy
fingers losing a fragrant
rectangle, only to somehow
cradle it again, like a touchdown
this, while contemplating whether

it is just me who performs sudsy
magic, there must be others who
exhaust all their luck behind
foggy plexiglass, others who silently
celebrate the meaningless and divine