 |
| click to enlarge |
as it always has been,
one day, forty thousand in the city,
the next, two score on the old bleachers,
or hammocked in their folding chairs,
or sitting on the grass behind the backstop,
the same game with children and fewer fans
yet on a bigger scale, broader,
with mountain ridges and forested valleys,
grander because from the weathered planks
you can see past the edge of the village
to the green hills, and deep into the rest of it,
which is the air we move in, dancing
in the light, lasting but a minute.
-
