Game of Catch

Back and forth and

back again, arcing, easy,

release, receive, the arm's

lunge and snap, the ball's

tortuous momentum and,

at last, the satisfying slap,

desire snared in the glove's

web, nonchalant, plucked

by the bare hand and

sent on its way. And so on.

Boy to man and, in time,

man to boy again. Not

my game, my set of rules,

not even - at its heart - my poem.

No matter how new, we

are all latecomers to the world,

here to gather, to savor, to learn.

Yet this much is true:

Our turn now, our catch

on a summer evening, our ball.

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