Who remembers those throwsThat hop between catchersWithout elation? Breaths and footstepsbetween catches areRudimentary. Light pours into trees and carbonIs stored in the wood.Does each tree remember
Lowly. The floating disc is buffeted from erstwhile virtues, At the whims of wind and grip deprived footwear. Slowly. We turn, or quickly fall and try, oh, We try and try. Week, on week And year on ye
Chill falls for the Maine coast. Orange leaves, pumpkin, and disc. Perhaps the grass expanse this afternoon Will host a game to five or seven… but not six.