Football

Sections A to Q,
rows three to forty-seven-
no choir stacked to an attendant sun-
the thin autumn wind
can hold your voice so long.

Green rectangle-
rain, then snow will smudge
ignorant of lime,
mice crawl
printed canticles
and bodies shed their sense.

Yet, on this autumn bed
of the fallen, of the risen,
fate pinwheels
on a blade of grass
the single story that there is:
the mix of clay and men.


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