Waltzing Toward Bohemia

never say never, always

We three-stepped across Vltava, the Moldau but shuffled here or there breaking rhythm making it work, or might have, or could have

in what could or might have been Prague instead of Nashville or Vegas or distant bubbling rocks, boiling seas, the tried and true darlings of travel agency brochures—

or the Crescent City, perhaps—Savannah, at least—

Performing gliding ballroom sweeps and spirals to Dvorak

Smetana even—

Turn here, spin there

whirl scandalous before and after and all about, all around—unserious issues belie serious matters—so we taunt

The fact of our toothsome stomp-through as residue, clues on every cobble, every stone—

turning, learning,

leaning into a better language,

indulging flaunt, indifferent deference to time that belongs to us alone and our own private timing

our own joy

our own scandalous, inconceivable cadence

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