The muscles in my legs work hard
to carry me to the end
where field meets trees.
Ribbons of light invade my vision
before I soar, a clownish dancer,
stretch to capture the ball,
one arm hopelessly extended.
The ball ricochets off an aspen tree,
bent forward like a catcher,
then thumps hard into the earth.
Wet and painted with blades of grass,
it slips away as I bend to retrieve it.
Hysterical laughter from across the field.
He is flat on his back, clasping his stomach,
hair wildly woven with mouse brown leaves.
I glare across the emerald field,
embrace my mitt and then unwind,
send the ball whirring, vibrating
the air that divides us.
One arm shoots up from his bed of grass.
He catches it with a perfect pop.
I sink to my knees and laugh and laugh
and smell the sweet October earth.
It embraces my body
as I will soon embrace my lover,
crawling to me, knees wet with dew.