Colliding with the grass, at last I know that I’m in the game! With every fast and cross-field pass, we stake a dominant claim, and of course we were forced to dig deep and source an elevated style of play; a man down, but still found net-busters abound. Four-to-nothing. When we show up, we slay!

The moments fold upon themselves, collapsing days into dime-sized squares, tucked into pockets with all the loose change that once resembled valuable hours; even those that dragged and would not end, can’t escape the gravity of the hungry night. Black holes mark the exit of every day; my whole life but the width of an atom.

I hesitate to say I’m cured… but what little hold of vice remains in moments that are normally endured only by pandering to my virtue’s disdains.

Am I too busy? Too tired, or content to engage with all I used to desire? Is this what they call ‘duty’? Or will I come to resent letting the heat finally die from my fire?

In caring, in loving, in the learning of you, there’s simply no room for transgression. All the bottles are stoppered, and my heart feels renewed, leaning in to this healthy obsession.

It was nice to wear a flannel shirt, and appreciate the rain, in homage to a man who loved the outdoors; from far and wide we came.

The summer before my daughter was born, I’d leapt from my chair to the stairs to help the bike rider, the kayaker, the hunter, who’d faltered halfway and despaired,

“Here’s a tip,” he said, “never get old.” Recalling each of his cat-like nine lives. Now gathering with grandchildren he’ll not get to hold, we share stories so his memory survives.

I used to cling to every hour, squeeze every drop from every day, resisting sleep with all my power, as if it held the sun at bay; as if to stave off my decay.

Believing sleep a waste of time, I searched the nights for lights within. Where now I take to bed and prime my lines for days I crave begin; I lean on back, and draw them in.