Backyard Tests

long summers in hazy heat
sending the fuzz-covered rubber
to the corrugated boundary
(which you visited oh so often)
mastering the art of youthful
perseverance; a model virture
which you got to know well
as the dusty willow flashed white

those backyard matches, where
two were eleven each, a strange
sibling ritual of metal stumps,
a dusty pitch, unending energy
and occasional thumps
given in our frustration, our vision
unshared by others, we alone
bouncing the ball off scattered stones
mastering the seemingly important
only to drift slowly away
like the rising dust of summer
baking the clay into an urn
for imaginary Ashes, for our hearts
so earnestly invested with love
for the game, for each other