To Reach for the Sky
by Kevin Casey
Bikes resting in the dust, pivoting
on their pedals, but the baseballs are tucked
in their gloves today, bats are left
to list against garage walls, waiting.
Someone has brought a bow to the field,
and the new game has no rules, and it has
no name. And the arrow, shot steeple-straight,
draws their small souls up to plumb
the endless blue; subsumed by the sky,
hidden in the perfect bliss of recklessness,
its point still aimed toward heaven,
above the sound of children laughing.
Gyroscope Review 34
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