.jpg)
The Dumb Luck of the World
Yet I’d like to think
of both these new, down-feathered
ducks—who float as if
wordless worlds found
here on this close pond surface,
which starts at a thawed center,
but ripples out toward frozen
edges—as kin to the flock
who stayed here year ‘round
until one day leaving. Words
always sound better
in thought keeping there.
And a world of words does
not englobe this source
of circles within melting
circles, yet I’d like to think
of the two mallards
as one of those faint, earthly
mysteries of home
forgotten, then found,
as if I were recalling
now the happy, dumb
luck of overwhelming life
after moving past the pond.
—Alex Missall
Alex Missall studied creative writing at the University of Cincinnati. His work has appeared in Superpresent, and Hole in the head review, as well as other publications. His poetry collections, A Harvest of Days, and Morning Grift, are forthcoming from Finishing Line Press (2026). He resides in Ohio, where he enjoys the trails with his Husky, Betts.