[we clanged pots...]

we clanged pots as children and clinked stemware
as adults but the charade could not go on. still
wearing baggy suits and unhemmed dresses we
went out into the night and danced amongst
a clutter of bakeware and frying pans. we became
lamps bobbing in the street throwing off our permanent
glow of adolescence. with windchime mouths we
crashed into the new year, the moon a cracked
china plate, some dish like shaved light.