The ball field
stetches out into
the park, its baselines
long legs.
In the armchair of winter
it relaxes, the tracks
of birds and small
animals trippings up
the baseline. The sun
opens itself
fully overhead
like the home run
of summer. I am sitting
on the bleachers. I have
dusted off a seat. The
wind cheers for me
as I watch the memory
of summer white out.
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