oh, grass, sing high
and dirt sing low;
the sun shining here
reminds me: brother
tossing a ball, the crack
of bat against the leather,
disappearing over the fence
into woods we knew well, and
water in our faces,
radio crackling on the ground
while we throw each other
into depths of blue-green, and
cheering, screaming, watching
men who feel like family
bring gold home for the first time
and turn proud, shining faces, and
laying in the high grass,
watching the sun set in oranges,
thinking about nothing but
doing it again tomorrow.
