into the limbs of the boys
on the field stretching
before the season’s last game,
into memories of their phantom selves
through fields, flying
gleefully over one bump
Into the lines
and furrows of their brows,
into the solid precision of their bodies
trained to field and battle,
time passes, the day nearly recollection.
They come rushing from the dugout
in uniform to take their positions,
confident, aware of the fleeting
glory of the moment,
their faces glow
like the last lightning bugs
of the season, heat and adrenaline
bursting from their bodies.
Let’s watch the enlightened leaves burn
into dark and angry flames.