Blind Strike











{April 13, 2008}   Shock Absorbtion

 for Jason

 

It wasn’t long ago, less than a year

that I slipped on this batting glove

twice a week all summer, the same grubby

glove that sits before me now

was then new, bought to reduce

the shock of rough vibration when my aim

was off, which was most times,

 

but Jason kept on pitching me,

made fun of my blinding

Alaska-Irish legs; he stepped up

every game, even when the strike zone eluded

and when he smiled, the whole team laughed,

and when he got down, I felt the drag from first

and punched my glove thinking, Shake it off

buddy, shake it off

 

Jason, I remember the day

you showed up with a new bat for the team

We named it Ex-Caliber; it shone white

in the sun and I fawned over it to let you know

how nice it was: none had money to spare, on this team

composed of writers, waiters, and bartenders

 

I don’t remember if you wore

batting gloves that Saturday morning

we hard-core bar leaguers were out

once again to shag a few balls and

shake off our Friday-night sins,

when you took Ex-Caliber

in hand and swung,

felt the barrel plastic give

instead of bounce

 

I don’t know if you felt the sting,

but I remember that forlorn look on your face

trying to tough it

as you ran a finger along the crack;

it is the same look I wear now when I remember

the Chugach Mountains yawning around our little diamond

and think of your charming smile,

which I will never see again



{April 1, 2008}   The Seeing

the Seeing was preceded

by a feeling of about-to-see

before that, an image, a thought

of what might be.

light matter, which is wave and particle

streams out from the source and penetrates, is absorbed into permeable,

which is like receiving a promise

a tangible sign of God

The caring, equal treatment of this light

shows the kind of love we can expect

from the universe, not favored beings

the haves who deserve to have

the dead who deserved to die

but the love of regeneration winding

ever down to us from sun on high

winding and blasting through all canopies

in time

a few moments ago, when I was alone,

I saw light for what it really is, saw it

flinging with my bare eyes, and light was a river

composed of tiny, violent drops



et cetera