We overflowed the hall – we’re such a crowd
we littered every niche and split the schools.
While other cohorts gossiped we made loud
eruptive innovations, suffered fools,
invented newer music, ate vaccines,
and danced until the sun sent us to bed.
Our parents put their hopes into machines
but we were warm and mystical instead.

Now reeds are split and gut has come unstrung
and all the instruments have gone untuned.
The night is old and we few move among
the ghosts of dancers, limping, sore, marooned
together, rhythm-linked by happenstance:
coincidental partners at the dance.