Basketball
I stand, pump fake,
Step up and back,
dribbling back and forth.
Lifting each step, like the petal of a rose,
Prancing in the dim light upon its floor.
As I rise, in the still-waking sleep of a lion’s den,
Its ferocity to the air in unity, withal and within.
Like a thief, with quick hands,
I steal to its door,
Knocking softly on the door of titans,
Lifting each step, like the aery lightness of a feather
Cascading the floor with a shadow in the dim light of its victory,
And I rise again, in the hallways of legends,
The memory to the air as a banner of youth.
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