The festive shade arranges our regret
in dark circles beneath well-lit disco balls
that perceive more than they admit.
We can try to escape — reason born
of wisdom implores the effort of
savvy sailors drifting too close
to menacing falls — and if we find absolution
when awakened, free of misplaced remorse,
paint our knees penitent, prudent
while shouting in the winds of the future,
shaking but confident in the effort of
reclaiming the shade for ourselves.