Weaving her
More or less Futbol-shaped
Bump through New York streets
She assumes that
The moment which
Fathered it
Arose
Not in their nest of banked
Bedclothes and soft words
But a good ten
Or fifteen minutes
After
When summoned
To play soccer,
And sweating
In the icy breath
Of January dusk,
Her palm laid
Against the insistent bark
Of a wintering tree,
She feels rather than sees
the ball stream by
(Stealthy and silent
As an idea)
Past
Her surprised
and ineffective feet
And hears his exultant
Half laugh-half shout
Goal!
_
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
going through the (e)motions
Off to Grand Rapids today to visit the #1 Sculpture Park in the USA (are there others?) and then dinner at a friend's place until late a...

-
Friends and old neighbors shutting it down in honor of John Crawford. _
-
Today is the birthday of the best sister in the whole world (mine:)! Happy, Happy Birthday, Chelli! [AA, my favorite aunt in the whole world...
-
I have the feeling that I’m going to succumb to the season and put out a list of resolutions soon. Just wanted to establish this heads up th...
No comments:
Post a Comment