Fumblefingers Waltz by Robert Ciccolini

Heaven sent beams, stained

glass streams were dancing on the

penguins and ladies in lace.

Gossipping reds and I heard someone say;

"I give 'em two years".

Blinding aisles of obsequious smiles,

chewing hard on the cud of

tomorrows bills and,

"How much you give 'em, ya

think he'll ever hold a job?

"Poor girl could have done better".

I fulfilled the prophesy with a

note saying; "You can have this

and I'll take that and we'll get

on with our lives".

But I can still hear them.

And I wonder if mere banter

can conjure a truth,

or if the real magic is

being in it so long

the time melts into space,

and the clock gets stuck

somewhere between

"I do"

and the frail,

trembling hands

fumbling for a grip

on the banister of

life.