Last night our team won in the final three seconds.
We beat our archrivals.
This morning at 6:10 a.m. the moon rides high
over the parking lot. Clearly,
this isn't a poem at all. It is just a title:
FIELD GOAL, MOONLIGHT, MEN WALKING TO WORK.
I live in this world and no other. It is sad
how people in my country huddle together
for comfort. But also beautiful in the way anything necessary
is also beautiful. It is late November, a little light
beginning to gather in my sky.
I love my darkness and my greed
for light. I often regret
not having had a calm and loving childhood.
Though in that life I might not have needed the moon
the way I do now. Who then would have written the poem,
FIELD GOAL, MOONLIGHT, MEN WALKING TO WORK?