Late Afternoon That Never Left

Late afternoon, University

Where the sun catches bleachers

Casting time across the tiniest slice of playing field.

A staccato “Hup! Hup!”

“Hup!” Of a frisbee scrimmage.

.

“Here!”

.

The hum of a campus in early summer,

Where the players’ cries, hoots and woots

Tick away a timeless place between the

Hourly bell toll.

.

On the seventh lap around the rubber track,

That echoing bell marks religion

Just in case we missed it.

.

A light breeze ruffles tree tops above the stadium

While down here, all is still

Just foot steps, slap of hand on frisbee,

sound of breeze in this still field,

Like a reminder of a world out there.

.

“No! No! Here!”

.

An easy time filled with gentle ripples

You know, the kind that form when

Memories, place, sound and light

Move together.

.

The kind that pull up poems

From that time I sat with her at the beach

And gently reached my arm out to hold her.

From then on, the distance between us grew.

It was the last time we felt the wind together.

.

Now,

Summer,

Rolling in enamel bliss

That will not wear off over a

sky shadowed, cast in vapor

Illumed by the fading light of an afternoon:

Like when Autumn became Spring

for just one day.

.

That was what we remembered

When we didn’t know that this kind of day

Not the faintest idea,

That today could be the richest of them all.

.

Maybe because it was the quietest.

Like I said:

Late afternoon summer.

The bell tolling another hour

Like some silly notion

That time might be slipping by.

“Ha!”

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