I celebrate the second,
third and fourth things of life,
or the 150th or 322 1/2 things.
Things in transition,
being translated,
rising like Lazarus.
I raise my glass,
to you, the 50th star rise
of childhood.
To you, the girl I kissed twice,
and the third stolen kiss
when we parted.
To you, the very last in the class,
the nether moon,
the sublime middle grain of sand
on the shore.
The smallest fish ever taken
from the sea,
and mercifully returned.
To all of you who were never first,
to all things that came after.
To the second universe that
bloomed with light.
To love at second, third or fourth sight.
To everyone a reward
for the 10th act of kindness,
and many more.
To the breaker of rules
and the embrace of suppleness.
All first things be rewarded for bravery,
for standing alone,
for opening a door,
for being there.
I salute the wine
that’s savored on the 20th year.
The words that come
many words removed,
aged with love,
for everything overlooked.
For being lost in the crowd,
a banquet of appreciation,
an embrace
for contribution and beauty
coming into itself.
And a shout of joy
at being part of a sky,
an ocean,
a spirit born over time,
beautiful,
sacred,
glorious for the part it’s playing.