an about-face

I had a failure,
   eruption,
subsequent smolder
O turn your head around;
hark, a re-set.

Who was that man that said:
there are no mistakes only lessons.
Hell, maybe it was a woman.

Mistakes used to
create fragmented and
and an ever-reproducing fount
of scattered shards.
Order-defying detritus
was the name of my game.

You and me
fumbled,
winging it
blindly,
past commencements
and hollow jackpots.
And secretly coveted,
mapped out,
schemable futures.

Or
(consider this)
were those bootless attempts,
the proudest of leaps,
worth
such far-flung
miscalculations
of my shruggable,
foolhardy
youth?

Oh Failure:
now I take thee in my arms.
We’re old hats now;
no shame to lose.
Mystified feels wilder,
perplexed whispers comfort.
Hello, chagrin …
we meet again.

Nay, regret.

Now, life:
habitual
with its occasional
paltry eye-opener.
Riding with fidus Achates,
mostly predictable
and well-tread.
Worn and chasmic tracks,
leading home to
Self.

Embrace me, mistakes.
Kiss me, lessons.
Love me,
mistakable you.