It was by no means
coincidence that a tortoise
the size of a manhole cover
walked out of the open desert
and into the path of our car.
I believe in the goddess
of close calls now and built her
a hand polished shrine by the roadside
in the image of the half moon —
a turtle on its back.
Which is to say we stopped
in time to yell “holy shit!” and skid
into the forgiveness of gravel,
to call to account the improbable
which is the very point
of prayer.
