“To Luck” by W.S. Merwin

In the cards and at the bend in the road
we never saw you
in the womb and in the cross fire
in the numbers
whatever you had your hand in
which was everything
we were told never
to put our faith in you
but bow to you humbly after all
because in the end there was nothing
else we could do

but we were not to believe in you

and though we might coax you with pebble
kept warm in the hand
or coins or relics
of vanished animals
observances rituals
none of them binding upon you
who make no promises
we might do such things only
not to neglect you
and risk your disfavor
O you who are never the same
who are secret as the day when it comes
you whom we explain
whenever we can
without understanding