forgive my hand
its cold
the stone bench waits for a cloud
and here the cloud straggles
from the splintery bleachers
the backstop’s eave
a game lost yesterday or last season
and goes to dampen the ducks
one is turning the wet pebble green of its head
in a circle and another circle and a whole new circle
the pond’s face sending these turns
off to the cattail reeds
in hedges gusts rat
these leaves leave a lonesome rest
for more company
ching ching ching
all the way up
link to link to link
the backstop ringing from the slap of the hand
you warmed for me
there is no rain falling but what the live oaks
clawed out of a cloud
one drop for you
three for me?
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