I listen to the drama in my car
As the Poconos slide by
The boys have taken arms
For us and lofted a missile against the sky.
But as much I like the fury
Of the cheering raging crowd
Who look upon the scene as judge and jury
Of how an object, earth-made,
Heaven-like can be endowed.
How reckless it would be
If the approaching summit,
Shadowing a smaller hill,
Declined to carve the sun into carpets of dark tree and light tree,
If it simply rejected the business of a colding star.
Or even if the advancing line
Of dark tree not light tree
Were by love driven
Were of our kind
Came from terror, came from rage.
Instead, a cool incorruptibility
A gnomon of no heart no soul no loins no sweat
Just the keenest of inexorability,
A deathless watchman’s lantern met.
Regain, regain, regain:
Still there must be a vaulting atrium
Still there must be a rebellion
That I rig up by a scaffolding of wishes.
Eat, drink, be merry, gather a rosebud
Before we stare at the silent eyes of iced fishes
In a dank seaside shed.
My love’s kisses still stir
Like roosting doves before they whirl to flight
Before shadow comes to her
Before we all fold in our wings for night.
Finally the boys have taken ground
They’ve scored against the team from out of state
The announcers pause and let us soak up the sweet sound
Of joy, and just as much of hate,
And as the extra point try climbs
Its arc fixed by the kicker’s will unbound
I turn the dial to other voices, other times
In hopes the football will not fall to ground.