pastime
anno_salutis I walked with her in a garden near the old ball park.
The lavender was vivid
and the smells themselves
seemed in rows as orderly rows
as the flowers from which they emanated.
We had both come here once, when our stories were unknown to one another,
as faced and balanced
as mound and plate.
This was before the local team
had ever won a pennant,
before the stadium
had been sold and resold
and was on the verge of demolition.

Still, the night it mattered
they were playing one last game there
in the old cold air of stories.

The lights atop the stadium awed
like UFO lights
in a coming of age movie in the 1980s.

You could hear the shuffling of feet,
and the crowd rising in sound
like a wave
on the basis of what happened
at home.

We walked through the garden
once more
and our options -
the pennants of years past
no longer enough to cohere.

The smells the same,
but known now,
the sky above the ballpark
no longer opening up
into an endlessness
that we raced to swing
our victories into.
141118
...
unhinged . 141119
...
shpaaaaaaaaaaaa shpaaaaaaaaaaaa 141205
what's it to you?
who go
blather
from