Extract:
from The Spalding Suite

i. Gravity

When we were young, we worshipped stars.

Our symbols of faith were ticks and stripes
endorsed by gleaming long-limbed gods
frozen-framed in the act of impossible flight,
plastered on our walls. For a time we tried
to follow, find the staircase, learn the trick,
to rise, to carve out our own piece of sky
with a butter smooth arc of an arm
and a Spalding ball glued to the fingertips.
We thought we knew. Sooner or later,
for each of us, gravity came calling
to shackle our ankles and dreams.

But, for a time, we were free.

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