Ache

Youth is that musty, summer night,
sprinting across black asphalt -
basketball, legs, and fingers
lusting for that finishing leap,
flick, swoosh, and jarring return.

That foggy soccer field at dawn -
bare toes kicking up dew just
a stride away from that smash
of skin and veins striking leather.

That grey, concrete edge of the pool,
a split second before diving.

How I ache.



John Wesley Lampe

Copyright (C) 2005 John Wesley Lampe