Layer after layer of blue stack the sky, the moon risen and the sun dipping away. I wait for the twin lights, the constellation of headlights—my ride to the meeting. It will be the entry vehicle to a world of population, leaving behind the galaxy of me, the single star. I stand silent and the feeling of fellowship carries the miles. Laughter flies the winds of memory and all the old jokes of truth and tribute are fresh and abide with me until the car arrives and we make it all new again.
Ride a horse to a pony show.
I know how good a quarterback you are
on Monday, safely at home.
What were you like on the field, game day?
You act as if seeing your mistakes in retrospect
is the same as not having made them,
but the game is lost and a rematch is not a do-over.
The score is final, whether you accept the stats or not.
Defeat does not deter my love of the game
and doesn’t diminish my affection for you,
But history has been made
and I don’t wish to repeat it.