I

*jabs and points magically all about*
 a tentative 2-year-old toddler out

(glove on the other hand)
with his dad in the bleachers
enjoying a professional baseball game,
the last (perhaps) of the season.

*silently-lipped child-sorcerer incantations*

can’t distinguish between the assembled players on the field

and the boisterously jabbering fans in the stands—

and for why? there’s no reason.

II

it was nearly this time last year:

the sadness, heavy heart, the wanting so much to be a part
of something that had no parts.
now, in the moment, like an iron meteorite encrusted in the ground,

re-settled after a magnificently cosmic flight

and all is vaporized that is not found.

III

she was just like a suddenly blown-out candle
that had been set too near to an open window in the night

where a stiff autumn storm-gale, passing, snuffed her dim.

i struck (up) a match and offered, most innocently (ha!), to re-light her wick.

but she sensed the waft of a metaphorical come-on

and quickly cut my promethean gesture to the quick.