Let’s not tell a boy now
he can’t play ball.
Not at twelve, or ever,
not when he loves it as he does.
Don’t spring on him a tricky valve,
slamming shut his play
today and plan for tomorrow.
Don’t take his heart, Lord,
when his heart is for the game.
*For Bas, who got some bad news.
They scored on their first possession:
And that librero they had:
Never was a girl so free.
I can’t stretch this page far enough
to show where you land. I can’t
see it myself. But the way you’re going
you won’t make a sound.
You’ll be the softest landing
earth ever did know.
Certain things can’t be.
Nor need they be.
Drops lie flat in the watery plane
once the impact
of the impact has died