Oh, wild fields at night
in the middle of a city
where hips tumble goldenrod
oh cellsea
the white armrest
I mean the window in back
of the homeless shelter
I mean a black arrest
under a bell jar at night
these are just, the courts
I mean basketball
Sodium edge painted night
contemporary drawings of insects
around two orange lights
that watch over the tennis courts
at 3 a.m. and 3:01 a.m.
as if there were no difference
when the minute changes
when this nonexistent number
suddenly falls, neither
digital nor analog
just a thing
though you stand and watch
the empty courts
when it happens
and believe


Drive past a late summer match on a blue tennis court under shade
of a park’s greenest trees. Green shadows on a tennis court
of bluest blue, where young plays old, old plays young,
before it maybe happens, a quiet game elsewhere,
in other shadows, meshes of the afternoon, not hard fought
on either side really, since it’s nothing, nobody for keeps.