To the Soccer Players

1.

The instant the street lights lit, the boys
    on the block stopped playing.
The long glum avenues held a flickering
    arc of orange globes -
like a mobile of fiery planets, aligned
    and dwarfed by the space
early summer's blue twilight reached towards.

    The songs of cardinals
petered out. The growls of traffic thinned
    while every traffic light
continued changing, each with a soft clink;
    and Venus led the stars,
stepping forth with her tiny silver mirror.

2.

Then they resumed play, scuffing and leaping
    after the soccer ball.
Their sweat and the air cooling, they dodged
    with their brown elbows raised
to balance their frantic possessions and passes.
    Like a dog's yelp, the ball
splashed into the dark with every kick.

    Till one found it and steered it,
the arched suspensions of his body proud
    above his spinning prize.
And they chased him like swirling vapors
    through endless darks, almost
men, now that they hardly saw themselves.

— For Christine Marshall