Rough waltzing, this.
Banging round the room—
Step on the cat’s tail,
Leap over uncle on the floor.
Familiar strangers hazard conversation,
Error the norm.
All those years,
I misunderstood the warm whisper come,
I misunderstood the alarum to retreat.
Luckily, I’ll never lack
For errors, blossoms, blackened Coors Lite cans,
The sweet tinny music of provisional trust.
The simple air surrounds my hands,
And crows forage freely in the grass.
To the divine convergence of
The shattered glass,
The red wine trickling over the boards.
The amount to learn is infinite.
The tower top scrapes heaven.
I shyly add my own foolishness
To the pile of bouquets at its base.
Now let us lay our ruined bodies down.
-- Deanna Hopper