we’re staggering now, just slightly
and we like it
caught out of time, out
of rhythm, way off rhyme
letting go of gravity, falling into
the dance, not a big solo,
no, it’s a household’s square-ish
round dance.
take hands, raise a glass, a bottle,
your arms,
thatch a canopy
for family to pass under
as your feet grapevine, hands
clasp hands
in a finite circle of praise
praise
to the human this terrible animal.
in the morning
we’ll feel low
beyond the adverbs quite very so
reel with me, every human
who’s ever sought
through herb, blossom, bark,
to transcend, to end
up, not figuring out the compound
word of compassion
but merely to borrow
for a little while,
it’s heavy-soft wings
and embrace our fellow inmates.
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