Years have passed
like torrents of mud
 
Still, I’m streaked
with your residue 
 
despite of wasting so much
time trying to wash off
 
You are a transparent thread
raveling away from my seams 
 
but you persist, little strand.
Maybe not a waste. Maybe—
 
failed launch, fizzled 
firecracker
 
I don’t regret the silly start,
the dumb decision
 
Carry on, complicated divorce!
Welcome any weak attempt
 
at a botched connection,
any ritual that confirms
 
freedom to fall flat
on my face. Seize the day!
 
My heart sings for all its worth,
hymns for my fiascos 
 
In the caked mud of my missteps 
I’ll plant blue petunias