one yard

you lower your
shoulder, tucking
the ball tight
against your body,
not waiting for
impact, but causing
one, you need the
next yard to have
a chance to win
this game. your cleats
dig into the wet
grass, your legs
tighten and spring
forward as you heave
yourself into
the arms and heads,
and hands of the
line that wants you
down, and as you
spin at contact
you see the blue
sky above as you
are lifted upwards
and over, no longer
tethered to the
earth but free in
this small infinite
moment of youth
and possibilities,
and this memory
will strangely
carry you forever.