On basketball courts at Catholic High
and LRU, our practiced discipline
found graceful motion: two teammates and I
stretched the hardwood’s width, so at ease within
our moves, timed with leather sphere passed from man
to man. We’d catch and toss with fingertips
(never the palms), flicking our cat-quick hands
as if swatting gnats, our shoes’ rubber grips
yelping as they bit and released waxed floor,
passer cutting behind receiver, each
body barely missing each. I adored
the drill’s court-length curves, my ultimate reach
to the goal. We swayed as an entity.
Our dance, I see now, formed infinity.
Roger Armbrust
June 23, 2007
